


The Life and Times of Shermaine Pines

by Sarielle



Series: Shermaine Pines AU [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Temporary Character Death, Drabbles, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Family, Gen, I love this big dysfuctional Jewish family, Jewish Pines Family, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multiple Generations, Neurodiversity, Pines Family A+++ Communication, Queer Themes, Shermaine Pines AU, Siblings, Snapshots, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Parents, Trans Dipper Pines, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarielle/pseuds/Sarielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Before she is even old enough to understand she is loaded with her family’s lot: her mother’s a compulsive liar, her father never emotes and has taken to gambling, one brother is “a perfect genius” who “didn’t deserve any of this” and the other is, in her young eyes, some kind of Pines family ghost, a Bloody Mary character, you whisper Stanley Pines three times in the mirror at midnight, and he comes through, breaks the mirror makes your father shout and your mother cry."</p><p>Snapshots of the life of the youngest Pines sibling. Born 16 years after her brothers, she is left to grow up in the wake of a family torn apart. Chronicling how a unimpressive skinny Jewish kid from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey got to be a successful Journalist, Activist, Mother, Grandmother, Matriarch,  and the effect her brothers' falling out had on the whole Pines family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 11 ¾: The Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Okay Some Authors Notes about this AU first: 
> 
> Shermaine Pines is based on a bunch of head-canons I posted about the youngest Pines child, Shermy. This is essentially an AU where Shermy is the twins grandmother. That's it, everything else is canon compliant. She’s 17 younger than the Stan twins (and yes she is the baby in ATOTS, slight timeline fuckery was needed.) This fanfic started as a series of drabbles I wrote which show her and her brother(s) and the overall the state of her family at various ages. Later chapters include Mabel, Dipper and their father. Chapters are not in chronological order, that's intentional. 
> 
> Also my head-canoned Pines family is hella Jewish, but I am not. I did my best to research the situations I wrote about but I apologies if I’ve inadvertently made any mistakes and would welcome corrections. I want to be respectful as possible here. 
> 
> I track the tag 'shermaine pines tag' on tumblr if you want to ask me anything or tag me in anything related to this story.  
> [Here](http://trustme-im-a-pirate.tumblr.com/post/132528313717/an-updated-easier-on-the-eyes-pines-family-tree) is an Extended Pines Family tree (with dates) and [here](http://8tracks.com/jenbones/sister) is the 8tracks soundtrack that goes hand-in-in with this fic. 
> 
> -Sarielle (trustme-im-a-pirate)

A/N: This is an edited version of the [version I wrote on tumblr.](http://trustme-im-a-pirate.tumblr.com/post/128912245947/shermaine-pines-au-age-10-and-34) This chapter is heavily inspired by[ In Living Memory](http://phantomrose96.tumblr.com/post/113645548197/in-living-memory) by [Phantomrose96](http://phantomrose96.tumblr.com/), aka Chrissy who is honestly one of my favourite fanfic authors of all time and you should definitely go check her out if you enjoy pain and feels. The two songs I wrote this chapter to were[ Bad Wine and Lemon Cake by The Jane Austen Argument](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=287KGxTtf4M&list=RD287KGxTtf4M) & [Tin Foil by Andrew Bird](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svmi1PmypOY) so there's a soundtrack if you want to listening while reading.

In case it's not made completely clear, any reference to Stanford "Ford" Pines in this chapter is actually his twin pretending to be him. This chapter takes place very very recently after the portal incident of '82, as"Ford" says less than two weeks. Yeah, Grunkle Stan is attending his _own_ funeral. With a sister he's not seen since infancy. Good Job Stan.

 **Edit:** Sherm's age was changed from 10 and 3/4 to 11 and 3/4 because I'm a knucklehead who can't use a calculator.

Any non-canon Pines family names are of my own devising.

* * *

 

Shermy Pines was fed up with her family.

Her father hadn’t spoken a word of English to her in two whole days, instead communicating solely in nods and grunts. The shop was closed while they were away, but Pop hadn’t spoken a word about money either despite his usual banter about profits and losses.

Her mom, on the other hand over spoke. She jabbered on and on about anything she could possibly think of: school, crystals, current events, work, stories anything that wasn’t the issue that everyone was skirting around. 

Her brother, Stanley was dead.

She’d heard her father on the phone to Ford, the night it happened.  He’d been in an accident and crashed his car.  The paramedics had pronounced him dead at the scene.

She’d never really heard much emotion in her Pop’s voice apart from anger, disgust and his own brand of Fake Salesman Happiness. But, lying there in her own bed staring at Ford’s old glow-in-the-dark constellations she had stuck to the ceiling, through the plywood-thin apartment walls 11-year-old Shermaine Pines heard her father cry.

She didn’t know what to do with all these adults around her. Grownups had weird feelings with weird logic she couldn’t understand. Her mom was sad and she kept crying, that at least seemed like a  _reasonable_  reaction but she only let herself cry when she thought no one was looking, and that was what confused her daughter.

She wasn’t going to get in trouble for missing her son but still she was carrying on like she didn’t miss him. To what end? Shermy couldn’t see. 

Perhaps it was some kind of competition? Her parents were competing who could show the least  human emotion. It left a uncomfy feeling in her gut. 

It was almost like her parents had been replaced by the golems from the creepy stories her  Grandpa had told her. They moved around the house breathing earth and clay, and Sherm was the only Pines left made of flesh and blood, at least until her brother got there, that was. 

 

 

* * *

 

  
“Hey Shermaine.” Was all her brother had said to her when he got into the family car, at the airport. 

He got in the backseat across from her, pushing his glasses up his nose like they were too small for him.

  
Six years and all she’d had was the odd phone call and a maybe a present or two for her  birthdays or Hannukah. Six years and he’d left her an only child. He’d left her alone with Mom and Pop. She’d been alright, she’d created her own stories and fantasy worlds but Stanford was never there.

“It’s been a long time, huh?” he added. 

She  didn’t acknowledge him, instead watching the many paths of the raindrops dripping down the car window glass. Some drops mixed together into bigger ones others split and divided like crossroads leaving criss-cross sweater patterns in their trails.

Ford  lapsed into silence, watching her. She glanced at him briefly,  the brother she once idolised.  There was a confusing degree of discomfort she felt when looking at him. Everything was tangled up and complicated. 

Well, maybe Ford would understand what was going on  but how could she explain it to him? He didn’t even look like the big brother she remembered from when she was younger. He looked like a different person.

“Don’t call me that. ”she said, lips thin, her toes curled up tight inside her sneakers. 

She spoke with far more bitterness than was probably ever expected from an eleven year old child, but bitterness that she had had plenty of chance to learn listening to her mother's pessimistic psychic patter on the phone. 

He started, his tired smile dying on his lips. 

“Oh. Okay. Sure. Whatever.” He stared back at the headrest in front of him, his eyes all misty like they weren’t actually seeing anything. 

“Shermy! Don’t be rude to your brother.”  Her mother scolded, glaring at her in the rear view mirror. 

She stuck out her lip. She  _wasn’t_  being rude, she thought. Still not brave enough to answer back to her mother. She just didn’t like her full name. She preferred Shermy.

 Okay, yes, that and she had yet to make up her mind if could stay mad at her brother.

They stopped at a gas station on the way home from the airport. She waited until her Pop got out to pay and her mom went inside to use the bathroom. 

Then she took her chance. 

“Everyone’s acting so weird, Ford. I _hate_ it.” 

She bunched her hands into fists and buried her knuckles in the fabric of her jeans. Staring at the white bumps of bone beneath her skin.

“Yeah, kid. I know.” He sighed, shaking his head, “Family is weird.”

“Pop acts like he’s got no feelings but nobody’s stopping him from having feelings.” She laughed, a little nervous. “It’s not like the feelings police are going to lock him up because he loved his son and he’s sad that he never told him!” 

Stanford’s eyebrows shot up, but she kept talking.

“Ugh, and Mom is everywhere at once she’s so fluttery, she’s  giving me butterflies. It’s like she has to put on this big play about how okay she is  when… when...” her voice gave out on her.

She looked up him, searching his face for something she could remember. Taking in his eyes the same brown as hers, the ‘Pines family nose', something their father and grandfather shared. The bags under his eyes, the tiny cuts on his chin and his stubble,  his beat up glasses. 

Shermy shook her head, her little fists squeezed even tighter. A few darker  spots  appeared  on her jeans diffusing out like ink blots into tissue. 

Through measured,  hiccuping tears, she tried hard to keep her voice understandable. Was this how her mother felt? Maybe she was in the right. Maybe she’d be better off a golem.

She shook her head to dispel her thoughts.

"I’m not stupid. I know what’s happening, Ford. I know he’s dead.”

Her voice came out sounding very pathetic in her own ears. Hands clenched tighter, she pushed them harder into her thighs.

“I never even got to meet Stanley… Mom and Pop wouldn’t let me.  Maybe if I had I’d be able to understand and maybe then I could feel sad too like a _normal_ person but right now, I can’t.  Is that bad? Am I a bad sister?”

Stanford stared at her, uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. 

“H-Hey there.  Shermy-Sherm. Don’t cry, you’ll just make this weirder, for both of us.” 

She smiled at the dumb nickname, but that just made her cry more. Ford sat there for a bit. She could hear him stammering in uncertainty about what to do. 

There was a click. Shermy looked up, Ford had unbuckled his seat-belt and shuffled into the middle seat so she would look at him. His hand in a black six-fingered glove rested on her shoulder. 

Six fingers. She remembered that.  She remembered the six fingers from when she was tiny, the six fingered hands that would help her balance on fence posts so she could walk along the top: the queen of her domain. Six fingered hands that had bought her the best books for her birthdays, books with pictures; a book with full colour pages of  galaxies and when she was older, an illustrated atlas that she used to help her come up with settings for the stories and plays she made up with her school friends.  

There was no longer any doubt in her mind, that this man, staring right at her, was her Stanford.

Her brother sighed.  “Look kid. If anyone needs to be questioning their attitude it’s me. You’re eleven, and I don’t mean that  you shouldn’t be upset  because you’re eleven, I mean the argument that made I- Stan leave is almost older then you are, and it was between me and my brother only. You were an actual baby when I- Ah, when he left.”

Something in his phrasing got on her nerves, lying in wait. A little niggle of doubt and frustration.

“ _Our brother_ , Ford. Stanley was _our_  brother. Mom and Pop wouldn’t let me be his sister. Please don’t _you_ do it too!”

There was a brief pause in their heart-to-heart. She wiped at her face and nose with the back of her hand, turning her her focus back to the patterns her tears had made on the denim of her jeans. Her brother cleared his throat but said nothing for a while. 

“I’m sorry, Sherm. " he said finally, he looked so much older than he was, much more his father today than anytime she remembered. "No one should be leaving you out of this, you’re right. You’re my sister, you’re our baby sister. You’re not a bad sister either, you are not to blame and anyone who says otherwise is talking bull. We’re not going to forget about you, kiddo.” Ford wiped at her cheek with a the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

She didn’t have any more words, just more very quiet tears. She buried her face into his padded shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her in response, a little uncomfortable, a lot unsure of himself.  

They were still like that when their parents returned. Her Pop didn’t even acknowledge it, merely straightened his hat in the rear mirror,  but Ma Pines looked on the verge of tears herself.  

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked, soft-voiced and worried. 

She felt Ford shake his head. With her ear so close to his chest his voice boomed straight into her head when he spoke.

“Nothing you can fix, Mom.” He said “Just leave her be.”

He shifted his arm slightly so he wrapped up in a tighter side hug, with one six-fingered hand resting on her shoulder.

They stayed like that for the duration of the car ride home.

 

* * *

  
Now in her uncomfortable best Black dress she felt like she should be the one to be give Ford a hug. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of the full length mirror in their parents room. 

He threw his hands up in the air with a noise of frustration as, he went to change his tie for the fifth time that day, finally returning with an old tweed bow tie that was definitely not their father’s.

Her dress was starched so much she was pretty  sure it could wear itself. The blue and white ribbons in her hair were  her mother’s final concession to let her keep some colour in her. She  wasn’t going to let these monochrome vampires bleed her Shermyness dry, so she’d put some flowers from the planters in her ponytail when her Mom was preoccupied. 

Her Pop had disappeared early this  morning only just now having come back. He smelt like whiskey and cigar smoke, it followed him around like a sad cloud. It hung in the car on the way to the funeral service, it stained his fingers yellow when he stopped to pat his daughter’s cheek before they entered the funeral home. Together as a family.

The funeral home, was three quarters full, surprising,  Sherm thought, considering how many of her relatives had actively disliked her eldest brother. Her aunt Selma had started crying before the service had even began. The very same woman who at her cousin's bar mitzvah not even  a year ago had been loudly proclaiming how:

“We’re just glad we never raised a Stanley.” A glass of wine too many and she was ready to throw her own nephew under the bus.

 _No_ , she  didn’t get to recover from that in Shermy’s mind.

“Evil witch,” she hissed into Ford’s ear, trying to force as much contempt she could into her glare as her eleven-and-three-quarter-year-old self could muster. “-she couldn’t be happier to be rid of him when he was alive. She’s so fake. I hate her” Ford actually chuckled, surprising her and drawing attention from their surrounding relatives, so he tried to disguise it as a solemn coughing fit, buried in the crook of his elbow. But when the others looked away he shot his sister a knowing wink. 

  
Before the service they had to stand up, her Ford and their parents. They were each given black ribbon  pinned to their clothes.

“Ford..” she hissed again in a panic, elbowing him in the ribs when he didn’t react. “What’s the ribbon for? I’ve never been to a funeral before.”

“It’s okay, I’ll help you do it, basically wait  Mom and Pop start and rip it as hard as you can.” He paused, and then with a sad lopsided smile he added: “It might help if you think about Aunt Selma.” Shermy frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

The rabbi gave the signal. Ancient words she didn’t understand, came booming recited in her father’s voice deep and rich. Then the, sound of ripping.

 On Shermy’s left, stood her mother shaking like a leaf, with tremory hands she made  her precise little tear. Her legs thin and trembling like they couldn’t support the weight of her loss. Seventeen years of love and care, and ten more of grief bearing down on her dainty shoulders. 

There were  some things that even the most together eleven-year-old could not  handle. Seeing your parents – the ones who clothed and bathed you, who taught you everything, who despite their glaring flaws loved you to the best of their ability –seeing them so very broken up, their faces all crumpled paper bags crying in their best suit and dress. Their eyes like frosted glass. 

It was terrifying to a little girl. She felt everything too keenly. The emotions built up and up in a crescendo of feelings.

Finally she got so overwhelmed she  tore at the ribbon with all her pent-up anger and fear. She tore it hard, staring down at the ripped ribbon and her shoes. When the rabbi started talking she was swimming in her anger, it lodged in her throat like a metaphorical frog. 

She returned to her seat, ribbon pinned to her dress. She was angry, thinking about a family who pretended to care for a ghost and she was hurt, thinking about what it meant when what had always been two was now left with one.

The service itself  was painful,  a lot of adults talking in the same tone of voice,, many who Shermy  suspected hadn’t  cared the slightest bit about Stanley when he was alive. Her father made a short speech,  as did Stanford. Both were uncomfortable and shaky. Both spent more time expressing regret than talking about the man himself. 

After that there was a long  bit in Hebrew she didn’t understand at all. Then at the end, her mother took her hand, squeezing it tight like it was the only thing still  keeping  her on the ground as they left the funeral home followed by the box that held what was left of the brother she never met.

 

* * *

  
It wasn’t raining at the Cemetery. In fact it was pretty and green with decorative gardens of tulips kept in uniform coloured squares, that Shermy would have gone to inspect in any other situation but this one.

 _‘The Addams Family_ ’ had lied to her again! There weren’t any visible cobwebs or skeletons, just rows of raised marble headstones and markers. 

And an open grave.

Her stomach started with a somersault and ended up doing a whole Olympic routine.

_Stanley's grave._

“Son of a….” At her side,  Ford  froze mid-swear as  he remembered her presence. He trailed off. “Uh. I mean this is just..”he shuddered, gesturing at the grave they stood beside.

“I can’t believe … I mean, two weeks ago if you told be I’d  be burying my twin brother before me. I don’t think I’d have believed you.” He said, shaking his head.

Shermy’s eyes began to prick. She looked from her brother to the grave, and back from the grave to her brother. She stared at her feet, her good leather shoes sprinkled with dust from the gravel driveway. 

“It’s not fair.” She whispered, clinging with limp hands, to Ford’s jacket at the hem.

“It never is, kiddo.” He replied, watching the rest of the mourners arrive at the graveside in shades of black and gray. The hearse and pall-bearers visible from the parking lot. Shermy scrunched up her face, with all her righteous indignation at the universe.

“Bu-but it’s like breaking up a pair!”she cried.

Something dark hurt, and angry passed over Stanford’s face, but it didn’t last more this a second.  

He took a gloved hand from his pockets and clasped her hand in his. 

“It is, sweetie.  That’s exactly what it is.” 

The graveside service was a lot less adults talking about things they knew nothing about and more, everyone reciting prayers she didn’t know the words to. She didn’t mind that so much, the sounds washed over her in waves of comfort.

 Most of the words held no meaning for her, but still felt reassuring,  with lilts and falls like a song from another time. Shermy shut her eyes tight. In her world there was nothing else but the peaks and crests of Hebrew and the warmth of  Ford’s gloved hand in hers.

 

* * *

 

Once the rabbi had read the final prayers, it was time for the burial. Sherm was grateful her mother had at least explained that bit to her before they got there.

The family waited til the extended network of cousins and aunts and  uncles had all placed their handful or shovelful  of dirt on to the casket, then it was their turn. 

Her father took a while, shovel ling several lots of dirt then standing staring at it, his lips moving constantly. He looked a lot older, Shermy thought, without his hat on. Finally he looked back at his remaining son and daughter and nodded once solemnly. A man of few words as always

Her mother was up next, she stumbled forward like a baby giraffe. Where her Pop had used the back end if the shovel her mother used her hands,  She fell down on  both her knees, the ground scratching up her stockings. She knelt forward visibly sobbing  emptying fistfuls of earth into the grave, her  palms turned  upwards facing the sky, dirt falling through her fingers until, she doubled over wailing. A primal screeching nose, that burned like bile at the back of Shermy's throat. 

Filbrick Pines, rushed to his wife’s side.

“Opal, Opal. Come on, darl.” Her father’s voice; usually hard as reinforced steel,  was soft and full of a kindness Shermy never recalled hearing before. 

He wiped his clay-stained hands on his suit  pants first. Then gently  he helped his wife up to stand, enveloping her in a bear hug. One hand on the small of her back another on the back of her head, pressing against the braid she wore her thick dark hair in.

“He’s not there Opal. He’s gone to another place now.” Filbrick said gently, trying his darnedest to console her. He glanced back at Ford and Shermy once more before slowly helping her stumble forward.

Their mother’s sobbing was still audible as their father led her away even when they were out of view.

Ford cleared his throat hurriedly, and gave her hand a long squeeze.

“Come on, Shermy-Sherm. Let’s go together.” he said, straining to keep his tone upbeat.   
She nodded. 

Her world was slowly spinning out of control and she didn’t know how to fix it. The only constant thing to her right now was her brother’s six-finger hand in her own. 

They approached the grave together. It was so very underwhelming, a wooden box and a hole in the earth, she was at least hoping for some kind of ornate  Scooby-Doo catacomb. But it couldn’t be less conspicuous if it tried.

Shermy stood there deadly silent. She had to soak in every detail, this was an important thing, of that she was certain.

There was: A pile of dirt,a hole in the earth, and a box  containing her dead brother. 

In the muddy grass in front of the dirt pile there were the imprints of her  mother’s knees. A shiver ran down her spine.There was such  a wrongness to today.

“Do you know what to do?” Ford asked, picking up the shovel from where their father had dropped it.

She nodded. “I do. It’s  just I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t  _have to_ say anything, kid. I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But I want to!” she cried staring at Ford, her eyes wide and shining.

Her brother waved towards the dirt  “Off you go then.” 

“Can you go first?” she asked “ _Please_ , Ford. You knew him better!”

Stanford sighed, running a hand back through his hair.

“Ah, fine sure. Move out the way a bit.”

Ford stuck the shovel in and pulled up a huge mound of dirt, he held it over the edge of the hole, so the dirt showered down like raindrops. 

He stepped back and wiped at his eyes and brow.

“Look F-f… _brother_ ….I’m sorry. I’m sorry for- what happened…I wish I’d never…. “ He trailed off and kicked at a clod of earth with a guttural noise of frustration. 

He tried to speak again and it came out in mumbles,  “Look,  what I mean is,  you were right… I’m such an idiot.”

He shoveled up another lump of earth and poured it on top of the box. 

“I was just stuck in the past. I’m a selfish piece of…” he stopped,  glancing  at Shermy “ _Uh_ …piece of _work_. You didn’t deserve all this. I- If I could tell you I was sorry face to face than I’d do it.  In a heartbeat.” 

He lay down the shovel with a thump. 

“But hey, instead here’s me, talking to a _great big hole in the ground_.”  

He walked a little way off just to put space between himself and the grave, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

After a pause he nodded for his sister to step closer.

 “Your turn now, kid”, he said.

Shermy, who had  listened to all of this with an angry confused weight in her chest growing bigger and bigger, nodded and stepped forward.

She lent down and picked up a big handful of dirt in each hand and peered over the edge into the expanse of the grave.

Her feelings felt to big for her body.

Too big for any sounds she could string into words to convey.

She wanted to go home, but even home didn’t feel right just now

“Hi Stanley.” She said, In a quivering voice, to the hole in the ground. “My name is Shermaine….I’m, um I’m your sister.”  

The hole did not talk back.

As she was talking she opened her hand slowly so some of the dirt slipped out, and kept opening it until the dirt was all gone.

Ford chuckled to himself, despite the situation. “I’m certain he knows who you are, kiddo”   
  
Shermy shrugged.  With 17 years between them she wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

“Yeah, okay. Well I wish I got to know you  Stanley, I hope we would have been friends. We never got to meet but you were my brother and I love you. Mom, Pop and Ford love you too. it’s just sad they couldn’t say that when you were alive.” Her voice  was quivering, was that good enough? 

She hoped he didn’t mind, and that wherever Stanley was he wasn’t angry at her or his twin.

As she relinquished the rest of the dirt it made a pattering noise, like rain on a tin roof.  She stood there staring into the grave, frozen still. Wiping at her wet face.

Ford came up beside her and crouched himself down to her height, with his hands on her shoulders. 

“That was good, Shermy.” He said. “You did fine.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Feeling too heavy and too human for ten-and-three-quarter years life experience, Shermy leaned forward and her brother wrapped up in his arms.

He smelt like wet earth and dust.

She could still feel Ford's lips against her skin.

She thought once more of the golem, sent back to the grave with the word "dead" marked onto it's forehead.

She was cold. Her eyes hurt, but no more tears fell from them. Her chest was hollow.

How would she even know if she was dead herself?

Ford's voice  jolted her out of the blackness in her head.

“Come on, then. Mom and Dad are waiting by the car. We better follow everyone else home for the _shivah_.” 

She nodded against his chest and he pulled away. 

As they headed towards the path towards the other parking lot away from the graveside, a sudden thought stopped her dead in her tracks, startling her brother  into stopping too.

“What? What’s wrong?" he asked over his shoulder. "Did you drop something?” 

Shermy shook her head. “I forgot to say goodbye.” She said. 

Ford crinkled up the bridge of his nose, like he didn’t know what to say. 

He smoothed down his lapels and turned around  to face her.

“Well… okay, just say it now. We’re still in the Cemetery. As far as I see it shouldn’t matter if you say it over there or here, a hundred yards down the road.”

Shermy looked at her brother, then back in the direction they had just come from.

“Goodbye, Stanley.” She said to the air. Some of the weight on her chest, loosened and drifted off into the air.

Ford took her hand, dwarfed in his six-fingered grip.

And hand-in-hand the two remaining Pines siblings, kept on walking.


	2. Age 6: The Theory of Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shermy reflects on time spent with her brother, as she adjusts to life as an "only child"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got long, like holy shit the amount of words I can write while procrastinating on actual academic papers never fails to amaze me. As I said before these chapter won't be chronological. This chapter is set in the mid to late 70s, the flashback is a year earlier. I have a loose timeline for this AU but because of the show it's a little vague and viable to change) in contrast to last chapter Ford Pines in this chapter = Actually Stanford Filbrick Pines, the Author etc. As this is before the portal incident, and Ford has only recently moved to Gravity Falls. I've tried to be diligent as possible in my research but if any little thing seems out of place let me know, especially in regards to Jewish things. 
> 
>  
> 
> Any comments or reviews would be much loved from me.
> 
> ( **A/N** :  If you want the soundtrack to this chapter there are three songs for Ch2:
> 
> [Brother, Sister by Beta Radio,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NiLs6JvIVE) [Telescope by Cage the Elephant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9OCEh6g6whc) and[The Projectionist by Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvUP7ESU7MU))

 

You’re not like your brothers, Shermaine.” said the Principal’s secretary, when her mother was busy filling in the last of the enrolment forms.

“No.” Said Shermy with the no nonsense dismissal of a young child not yet taught to be passive in her aggression,

“I’m a girl. They’re boys. I’m me. They’re not. ‘s different ” She stared up at the old woman, she had silver hair and those sticky-out winged glasses that made her look like a clown.

Shermy didn’t like her. There was nothing wrong with her brothers. Plus she called her Shermaine.

“Can I get my crayon book now?” she asked her mother, who was still hunched over the paperwork at the front desk, biting on her pen. Shermy looked back at the secretary.

 “I’m gonna get a colouring book.” She said, not because she really wanted the woman to know, but rather she had learnt very early on in her development, that the only way to ensure Ma Pines came through on her promises was to have a witness to catch her in the act.

“A crayon book, with rockets.” She added. The rockets hadn’t been specified but this woman wasn’t to know that and she was her witness. She could live a little.

“Do you like rockets, Shermaine?” she asked, with that same insipid baby voice most grownups used when they spoke to her. It wasn’t nice or whatever they thought it was, it just made her want to kick them in the knees.

“Yeah.” She said with a shrug, this women was stupid, why would else would she want a space themed book? Of course she did. “M’brother got me a book of pictures. From NASA.”

“From NASA?” Asked the principal’s secretary, impressed.

Shermy nodded. She looked over at her mother, pleading for backup. What was with grownups, constantly repeating words and pretending it was conversation?  It didn't follow any logic in her head. If you don't have anything to add, don't add anything. It was common sense.

"Look out, you're gonna have a little astronaut in the family at this rate, Mrs Pines!”  Joked the woman. Shermy tensed up as the words left her mouth, the woman was skating around a point of Pines Family contention, and what was worse was she was most likely doing it on purpose.

Shermy glanced up at her mother, trying to read her expression. Her face was covered by the strands of dark hair not properly pinned up in her beehive.

Her mother laughed, the dry tittering laugh she used on inappropriate family members and her father’s more off-colour jokes.

“I hope not, it’s hard enough to keep a kid on this damn rock as is.”

“How are the twins, if you don’t mind me asking?”

This woman was so full of it, Shermy thought balling up her little hands into tight fists. Everyone in New Jersey knew what had happened with her brothers, five years past now. Dogs probably even knew about it. It had long died out of interest in their street’s gossip circle, it was dead news.

She had to give her mother credit, though. She looked up from her paperwork again, and blinked her heavy-shadowed lilac eyelids, a forced smile on her face.

“Stanley… well Kathryn, I’m _sure_ you’ve heard what happened with our Stanley by now.” She said, and only Shermy noticed her tell of annoyance in the tap-tapping of her long acrylic nails, against the desk top.“And _Stanford_ , got a grant for his thesis. He ranked in the top twenty nationwide.”

With long, deliberate flap of her dark lashes, and a click of her pen, her mother went back to filling in forms as if the other woman hadn't just taken a punt at a six-year-old trauma.  Sherm wouldn't admit it aloud, lest it go to her already big head, but her Ma could be _kinda_ cool at times.

“Well, we knew that boy would get places, he always was such a hard worker. You must be so proud of him.” The Kathryn women was all crinkly eyes and fake cheer.

Shermy was annoyed, she didn’t know Stanley so she couldn’t speak to defend him. But she knew Ford, and he wasn't money or his reputation.

This schoolhouse woman didn't know her brother at all.

Ford Pines was warm hugs and stories of long-dead men. Tweed jackets that smelt of gunpowder. 

He was six fingered hands stained with chemicals whose names were too long for her to say. 

Ford wasn't any of the achievements this woman and her parents could list.

Ford was complicated, he was softly sad and despite all her attempts to cheer her brother up when he came to stay there was something in his lopsided smile that she could never make happy.

Ford was twitchy. Ford got distracted a lot and was always writing something down, even at the dinner table his eye contact would slide away and he could be found scribbling something unreadable on to a napkin.

He shared their dad’s quiet sense of moral judgement, and their Ma’s gift of the gab, but only if you got him talking about a topic he was interested in.  To simplify him to his brain alone was to do the man a disservice. Heck, she was six and she could understand that.

When the paperwork was handed in and everything was approved, they left the school. Her mother offered a mouthful of fake farewells to Kathryn, who Shermy suspected she also disliked.

 “Ya know, Sherm just can't wait to start school in the new term!” she oozed.

She was lying, per usual. ‘Sherm’ wanted nothing to do with this red-bricked child prison.

In reality, there was nothing else she wanted than to live in perpetual freedom playing on the beach, with her toys, off in her own world. Well, okay maybe there was one thing.

“Ma, when is Ford  coming back to visit?” she asked, quickening her pace to keep up with her mother’s as they made their way out of the school gates, heading towards the grocery store less than a block away.

Opal Pines sighed, looking at her daughter with a fond smile, “I don't know, _bubbele_. He's a _very_ busy bee, your brother. Maybe when you're older you can go visit him in Oregon. If it doesn't interfere with his work. You were lucky enough to see him for Hersch’s wedding last year. He’s an adult, hon. He can’t always be around to play with you.”

Shermy curled up her bottom lip, and stuck her hands in the pocket of her overalls, it was a hot August day, and most of her friends were away visiting relatives. 

So Shermy was stuck running errands with her mother, despite the fact she was uncomfortable and sticky and _bored_. She wanted to go swimming with her brother. Go hang out at the pier, with her brother. Maybe even have a water fight.

 What was so important with his dumb science stuff that the guy couldn't even have come and stayed with the family for Hanukkah? Even just a couple of days he didn't even have to stay the whole week if he was really that busy.

It was so lonely on holidays without him, yet another empty seat at the dinner table.

It made it that much harder on her parents too. To have one son banished and the other too busy to even stop by.

What use were twin brothers if you didn’t even get to have _one_ of them, she thought, what kind deal was that? ‘ _Buy two, get none free’_?

An empty soda can, lay on the sidewalk just out of her reach, she walked out of her way to kick it into the gutter.

It made a satisfying tinny _plink_ and it bounced into the drain. Her mother smacked her carmine lips together, her signature sign that Shermy was doing something annoying.  

She fell back into step beside her, the central mall stretching out in front of them, lined with shops and offices.

The Ford she knew used to carry her on his shoulders, he'd sit down on the pier with her and listen to her babble. Her parents never actually listened.

They meant well but her father always said he didn’t make money from being a ‘bleedin’ heart’ (which was a good thing, Shermy thought, because if his heart was bleeding he might die.) and as much as she loved her mother, she knew better than let her know the full truth of anything just like she'd learnt not to take anything she said at face value.

 

* * *

 

 

The smell of frying dough snapped her out of her moping. There was a young guy in a paper hat running a food stand across the street from the store.

“Mom, can I get a pretzel!?” she cried, looping her arm through her mother’s, feeling her bangles press up against her bare skin.

“Stop hangin’ off me, bubba, you're not a grape.” Opal glanced at the stand she was pointing at and smacked her lips again. “Ya’ got pretzel money?”

Shermy’s head drooped, her mother knew perfectly well that she didn't. She was six.  She had only just started learning to read. Where did a pre-schooler get an income?

“We’ll have food at home, hon. besides I said I’d get you that colouring book. One bribe per trip, that's the rule. Don’t get greedy, now.  You know what greedy girls get?”

“Nothing.” Said Shermy, dejected. Her stomach rumbling, it was coming up to lunchtime and she’d gotten up early that morning, she'd woken up close to dawn,  full of  ideas, too excited to stay in bed. So breakfast was a long time ago, ancient history even. She sighed, it was a dramatic head-shaking sigh she had learnt mimicking her mother, working on the phone. But her Ma just laughed.

“Come on, you _putz_. We haven't got all day.”

She followed her mother into the store.

Shermy was well acquainted with the Glass Shard Beach Stop and Drop Superette.

The doe-eyed older woman at the counter was called Violet and she knew all the secrets of the known universe, she’d worked there since her brothers were babies. 

Sherm theorised she was older than time itself because she called everyone “Child’, even Stanford, who was like twenty-three and practically a pensioner as far as Shermy was concerned. But Violet got away with it, no one questioned her age or her expansive knowledge of everything that happened in town.

 She was a 4’10’ prophet, with her salt and pepper braids and a Southern drawl. Last week Shermy noticed she had the letters L-O-V-E tattooed on her right hand.

 She was a little bit terrified of Violet.

She just followed her mother dutifully through the aisles, staring straight ahead, not daring to let herself look at the plethora of wonder which lined the shelves: Shortbread, chocolate, Name-brand cereals.

None of that was going anywhere near their cart. Her stomach growled louder.

“Keep up, hon.” Said her mother, power-walking ahead.  “We’re almost at the magazine aisle.”

That brightened up Shermy's pace. The magazine aisle meant colouring in books and her well-earned reward.

She chose a book called ‘Shooting Stars” that had a variety of space scenes: comets, moons and planets for her to colour in.

“What ya got there, child?” asked Violet, when they got to the checkout. Shermy held  up the book for her to see.

“You like all that space stuff too?”

“Too?” she asked, thinking of Stanford and his bottomless well of astronomy factoids.

“Yeah, my sisters little grandchild, Mae" Violet said with a smile.

"She loved all that starry stuff when she was you're age. Now she’s studyin’ at in some Ivy League school in New York, she started there at 16.”

“Wow, that's young.” Enthused Opal, glancing from the older woman to her daughter “you must be very proud of her.”

Violet nodded her braided head, “I just wish she’d get her head outta the clouds and come spend some time with her family.”

Shermy felt her mother's hand stroking her shoulder.

“Well, Sherm's got all the time in the world to worry about what she wants to be when she's older.” she said.

“Ain't that the truth.” Violet handed Opal her shopping. “Don't be in a rush to grow up, little one.”

Shermy frowned, all she'd meant to do was show off her new present.

 

* * *

 

Back at home, after lunch, Shermy helped clean and put the plates away.

“Ma, can I use the table to draw on?” she asked.

The desk in her room was too high up for her to sit at comfortably, and right now it was covered in boxes upon boxes of her brothers’ stuff.

“I’m about to start working in here, hon. Why don't you go play outside with your friends, or something?”

“Everyone's on vacation. I wanna do my colouring in.”

Filbrick wiped his sandwich crumbs off his chin with a handkerchief, which he put back in his jacket pocket.

 “Well, I'm going back to re-open the shop.” He said, picking up his plate and taking it to the sink.

 Opal nodded, without a word. A chart of horoscopes rolled out on the table in front of her.

“Pop, can I come sit with you in the shop?”

Filbrick studied his daughter for a few long seconds. Then he reached a hand out and ruffled her soft brown head, mussing up her hair.

“Alright, small fry. But don't harass the customers, capiche?”

Shermy nodded firmly, shaking her bangs into her eyes. “C-capiche.” She said.

Her father’s moustache quivered. It was the closest he ever got to a smile. 

She grabbed her crayons and her books, plus some paper in case she thought of any stories to draw and, because she was still hungry, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Keep out of trouble, bubs.” Called her mother as they headed downstairs.

Sherm looked back over a shoulder to catch a glimpse of her mother at work: thick black hair up and back out of her face, the phone cradled in the crook of her neck, idly flipping through a book of the Major Arcana.

“Come on, kiddo.” Barked her father behind her. “Don’t stop on the stairs.”

“Sorry, dad.” Shermy said, hopping down the stairs two at a time, leaning her weight on the balustrade, so she’d slide down faster.

Pine’s Pawns itself was a rather cramped space. There was the shop window, where they put the most enticing items on display.

Then there was the shop floor with its peeling linoleum, the counter and the bigger area behind the counter where she sat with her father, in front of the safes.

“Go turn the sign.” Instructed her father, “I need to check the cash register.”

Shermy did as he asked and unlocked the front door if the shop. Outside, the afternoon street was fairly empty.

She saw Lori Kaufmann taking out the trash from the waffle place next door, where she worked.

Lori saw her watching and waved at her, her copper coloured hair tied up in bunches. Shermy waved back, turning as red as a tomato. Lori always had such pretty hair.

“Sign’s done, dad.” She said.

“Alright, now keep out of my hair okay?”

“‘Kay” she said, biting back  the cheeky response of “What hair?” that rushed to her tongue, deciding she better not if she would like to live to see seven. Shermy put her apple on the counter and got out her crayons and the new colouring in book her mother had bought her that morning. She turned her attention to filling in the galaxies and the planets in a kaleidoscope of colours, greens and pinks and blues.

A few hours went by, Shermy didn't really notice. Sucked into the vacuum of space, colouring in moons and comets in a swirl of bright yellow and orange.

A few customers came in, the kind, her father called the “Ummers” they milled around “Um-ing” and “Ah-ing” but never actually buying or selling anything. Just killing time. She could tell they got on her father’s nerves but he never actually said anything, he had his Fake Happy Salesman act that he put on .

Finally around 3 o clock, a young guy came in to the shop. He'd been hanging around the shop front peering in the window, like he was trying to make up his mind about something he until he finally came in.

He was a skinny guy, tall and gangly like Ford, with close cut dark hair and long eyelashes. He wore a suit too big for him with patches at the elbows.

“Afternoon, sir.” Said her father, all bristly charm. Sherm could see the cartoon dollar signs light up in his eyes. She wasn't sure why, this guy looked worse off then they were.

“A-afternoon.” He said with a bit of a stutter.  “I’ve  G-got something I was looking to p-pawn. It might not b-be sellable though…”

Filbrick shrugged “It's worth a look at anyway.”

The man reached into the leather satchel bag at his hip. He pulled out a long skinny square box, some kind of hard leather case.

Filbrick scratched his moustache “If it's a gun I need your license number, for legal reasons.”

The customer unclasped the case and opened it,

“It's n-not a weapon.” He said.

Shermy gasped, and the man glanced at her with a small smile.  It was a telescope, a retractable handheld telescope made of bronze with a wooden inlaid grip. It was beautiful.

Her father rubbed his temple and shifted his weight in his seat.

“I see what you, mean. it's a bit of a niche thing. But I'll buy it.”he said.

“You will?” the man had sad green eyes, that shone with things she couldn't decipher. She wondered what his story was. Why would anyone give up such an amazing thing?

“I'll give you forty dollars for it” he said after some thought.

“F-forty?”

Her  father grunted a yes.. “It’ll be harder to sell but I'll take that risk.”

The man nodded,  eyes shining even brighter.

“I'll t-take it, thank you.” There was such an incredulous tone to his voice Shermy wanted to give him a hug.

 Her father stood up and moved to open the cash register “Cash or cheque?”

“Uh, c-cash, please.”

Her father gave him four ten dollar notes. “Here you go, sir.”

“Oh, thanks, th-thank you so much for this!”  He said taking the money and shaking her father's hand.

“Oh!” he said, suddenly remembering something. He reached back onto the satchel.

“It comes with an extra lens  for magnifying further.” Filbrick took the lens and put aside on the counter next to Shermy’s  apple.

“Is that everything?  Her father asked.

The young man nodded. “Yes, it is. Th-thank you for everything.”

“No problem, sir. You have a good afternoon, now.”

“Yes you t-too.” He nodded an acknowledgment to Shermy before he walked out the shop door and soon disappeared out of their view.

 “Poor bastard.” Said her father, more to himself than anything.

“Pop?” she asked, her mother would have scolded him for the language but she was out of earshot, hard at work upstairs. Shermy  was merely curious.

What did her dad see that she didn't?

“Shermaine, look at this telescope. It's maybe not worth a lot but, this is an heirloom. “ he said looking at her with unbreaking eye contact even through his shades.

“You don't sell something like this unless you've got nothing else left to sell. That kid doesn't have much else in the world, did ya look at his shoes?

She shook her head. She was too short to see that far over the counter.

“They'd been resoled a couple times, the colour of the leather didn't match. Plus his laces were frayed to bits..”

Sherm looked down at her bare feet and then over at her father’s wingtip.

They were a mustard coloured leather with matching soles, his shoelaces were neat and tied in a bow.

“Poor guy.” She said. She couldn't imagine having to sell something so dear. “Maybe he doesn't have a family to go to.”

How lonely must that be? She thought.

Filbrick grunted, not looking her in the eye.

“Pass me that sticker gun.”  he said pointing at the labeller in front of her on the far side of the counter.

Shermy stretched her little arms out and grabbed the gun, her elbow connected with something.

“Watch out” her father said.

She looked back as she’d flicked the apple and the glass lens off the counter top, suspended in the air.

 

* * *

_(A year earlier)_

It had been the morning after her cousin, Herschel’s wedding, they’d got home late the night before, Shermaine had fallen asleep in the car as they drove over the state lines. Eventually the  car had stopped, she remembered that much, then through sleep-heavy eyelids she caught a glimpse of a dark grey lapel that smelt of home.

Then came the reassuring sensation of arms carrying her up the stairs. She’d been so tired she’d fallen asleep on top of the covers halfway through getting dressed. She woke up early in the morning still wearing her good party dress, someone had at least had taken her shoes and socks off, probably her mother who had tucked her in.

Shermy remembered waking to the soft sound of scribbling below her. She’d hung her face down from the top bunk, to see who was there. _Of course_ , she'd forgotten her brother was staying with them.

Stanford sat up in bed, writing. His glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, his hair was mussed and sticking out in all directions. He was wearing his undershirt from the night before, Sherm could see his actual shirt and suit jacket hanging from her bedroom doorknob.

“Boo!” she said, her voice low enough as not to wake their parents down the hall.

Ford had jumped a mile, smacking his head on the slats of the bunk above him.

“Ow, Shhh-- _Sugar_!” he cursed, rubbing his head. “Mornin’ to you too, ya monkey.”

“That’s why I have the top bunk.” Shermy explained, dangling her feet over the side. She stretched her arms up towards the ceiling, not quite touching it. “I can’t hit my head, up here.”

Ford chuckled, wiping some sleep from his eye.

“You wouldn’t hit your head on the bottom bunk either, you’re the size of a pea.”

“Am not!” she said, pouting.

“Are too.” he replied with a yawn.

“Hey Ford, watcha’ writing. Is that your diary?’ her brother folded shut the burgundy book and stuck his pen behind his ear, with a soft smile.

“It’s a journal.”he said.

“Like for a newspaper?”

“No, not exactly. It’s notes from my research.”

“So you’re working?” she slid down the ladder like it was a fireman’s pole. Landing on the balls of her feet with a _plonk_.

“Uh- well.. yes, but just until you woke up .”

“Oooh _Stanford_ , you’re working. It’s a _Saturday_.”

Ford rolled his eyes, and slipped the book back into his bag.

“It’s not even 6am, _Shermaine_. Anyway I couldn’t sleep, I had to do something.”   

“Well I’m awake too now!”

“You are, indeed.”

“Wanna go for a walk or something? To the beach.” She suggested, her head already spinning suggestions like a slot machine. Here she was with untapped access to her most important resource of all time: Free time with Ford!!

“Sure, I could go for a walk. But you ought to get changed first.” He said pointing at her dress.”Ma’ll skin us both if you get that dirty.”

Sherm didn’t exactly have a variety of nice outfits her mother deemed suitable for formal events or Temple, and even those were hand-me-down's from her cousin Sarah.

Still, she didn’t want to take any chances to incur her mother's wrath.

She nodded, happily skipping over to her wardrobe and changing into a clean shirt and jeans.

 “I don’t ‘member going to bed last night.” She said brushing her hair out of her face and tying it up in a ponytail.

Ford pulled a clean T-shirt over his head and searched around on the floor for the slacks he’d worn the day before.

“You were out like a light, I didn’t have the heart to wake you. So I carried you in from the car while Mom and Pop unpacked.”

“Thanks Ford but ‘m not a baby. I’m five now.”

“Oh, well _I’m sorry_. You’re my baby sister, I mean you’ll practically always be a baby in my eyes. Even when you’re eighty.”

Shermy scrunched up her face, in a mask of fake-annoyance and stuck out her tongue at him.

To her delight, her academically decorated, reclusive scientist brother did the same and blew her a raspberry.

She doubled over in giggles, but had to cover her mouth to stop herself from making too much of racket.

“Shall we go to the beach, then?” asked Ford putting on his big trench coat, despite it being quite nice out.

Shermy's heart leapt, “Okay!”

“Hold on, I'll just leave Ma a note.” He scribbled something on a post note in pretty curling letters and stuck it to the dining table.

They’d walked hand-in-hand down their street, through the shortcut behind the donut store that lead to the pier.

They found a spot to sit on the boardwalk where they could see the orange tinted New Jersey sky stretched wide across the horizon.

The beach was empty. The sea was blue and unbroken, still as a pond. Only a handful of little boats were dotted nearby,  like paint splats on the water.

“Hey Ford?” Sherm asked, swinging her dangling legs off the side of the boardwalk.

Her brother was flicking through another book, not the journal he'd been writing in this morning. This looked like some kind of sketch-pad.

“Mm?” he glanced up at her briefly, still browsing. There was a pencil behind his ear she noticed, just in case, he got struck by ideas mid-walk.

“What’s Oregon like?”

“Not like this.”  He said gesturing across the expanse of sand, sea and sky with one six-fingered hand.

He thought for a while, thinking about how to phrase his words.

“Well, the town where I live: in Gravity Falls it's nice, a very quiet place in the woods, it's very…well very, _different_ from here.” He said, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Is that a good thing?” She asked again. There was something about how he dismissed Glass Shard Beach with a sweep of his hand that didn't sit right with her.

 Ford chuckled at that. He smiled at her, such a sad, lopsided smile that made her chest hurt.

 _What's going on?_  she thought. _Why does his smile make me sad?_

 “Well, I guess that depends if you like it here or not.” He said.

 Shermy squeezed her little hands into fists. A few hundred feet in front of them a kingfisher swooped down to catch something it had seen glistening in the ocean.

 “I like it here” she said, slowly unclenching her hands again. “It’s my home.”

“Mm.” Ford mumbled. The rising sun reflected off his glasses so for a moment she couldn’t  see his eyes.  “Change is good too, sometimes.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I mean, I miss the people. You, Ma and Pop and St-..stuff.”

“But not places?” She asked, electing to step over the gaping wound Ford had nearly opened up in the conversation. She was five but she wasn't entirely ignorant. Despite the void in her heart filled with questions, “what ifs”and curiosity,  Stanley was a matter better left well enough alone.

“No, not places. Not really.”

There was a lull where they both said nothing.

This wasn't what Shermy  had expected when she suggested they talk a walk.

Though she was quickly learning there were many parts of her brother that were unexpectable.

Her stomach growled loudly, interrupting her tonight's with the reminder that they hadn't had breakfast yet.

Her brother looked up in surprise, and seeing her face he laughed. A proper, rich familiar chuckle. It was like warmth to her ears.

Ford reached into one of his many coat pockets and pulled out an unblemished red apple. Shermy’s eyes grew huge.

“Is that why your pockets are so big? They're full of snacks?”

Ford laughed again. “They're full of secrets!” he said with a wink.

She giggled, though she suspected that was probably at least somewhat  true,

Here, catch.” He said, throwing it her way. Shermy caught the apple in two hands, and rubbed it on her shirt.

“Thanks.” She said, inspecting the fruit.

Her brother grinned at her, squinting with the sun in his eyes. He looked like such a goof, she thought.

 “Nice work, Sherm. You're already a better catch than Isaac Newton.”

“Isaac who?” she said, scrunching up her face, in thought.

There was an an Isaac on their street whose sister she sometimes played with  but their last name was Berkowitz. She didn't know any Newtons.

“You've never heard of him.” He surmised.

She shook her head no, sensing a story was coming.

Ford was staring off into the horizon,  combing a hand back through his hair.

There was a light breeze that smelt of sea salt and dead fish. It was oddly comforting in a familiar kind of way. The smell of freedom and fresh air.

The breeze blew Shermy's bangs into her eyes. She brushed them aside.

“He was a British scientist, who is credited with formulating one of the first theories of gravity.” He paused, scratching his nose. “You know what Gravity is, right?”

“It makes stuff fall down, and also makes us not float up into space.” She said, fairly certain he’d explained the concept to her before.

Ford gave her a surprised side eyed glance ”Y-yes, essentially that's it. Well, the story goes Isaac was once sitting with some friends under an apple tree in his garden,  when an apple fell out of the tree above them and hit him on the head, and he thought, why do apples fall down? Why don't they fall up or sideways?"

Shermy narrowed her eyes at the fruit in her hands. She tossed it a little way above her she then caught it again. The apple fell downwards. “Because of gravity?” she said.

Ford nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“Exactly. Gravity pulled the apple towards the centre of the earth.”

“He got all that from an apple to the head?”

“Well, the story might be a little exaggerated  but it's still one of my favourite anecdotes, no matter if it isn't strictly true. The Important moral is to always ask why?  Why does the tide goes in and out? Well because of the pull of the moon.  Why is the sky blue? Well because blue light is scattered more than red light in earth’s atmosphere so we see it as blue on a sunny day.”

She thought about this, turning it over and over in her head. Sure “Why?” was always a good question to ask, but in Shermy's world all it did was  get her in trouble. 

She had a hole in her chest filled with untapped, unasked “Whys” and a few bubbled up toward the surface.

_Why don't you come visit me anymore?_

_Why does Ma sometimes cry when she thinks I'm not looking?_

_Why did you move across the country just to get away from here?_

_Why does the Rabbi look at us with sad eyes when it is time for the fast of the firstborn?_

_Why did Stanley leave?_

_Why did I never get to be his sister?_

_Why does no one tell me anything?_

She didn't ask any of these questions, instead she shuffled over and leaned against her brother as he stared out at the sea, his sketch pad in his lap.

She took a big bite out of the apple, and while savouring the sweetness, she tried to imagine Isaac Newton sitting in his garden with the apple in his hand.

 

* * *

 

Remembering all this a year, later. In a flood of emotions, Six-year-old Shermy Pines found herself frozen in place: an apple caught in her hand, a telescope lens in the other.

“Good catch, Shermaine.” Her father murmured, dryly. Taking the lens from her, cleaning it, then putting it away again in the leather case it came in.

“Yeah.” She said. She took a bite of the apple.

It wasn't as sweet as she expected, if anything it was kind of floury and disappointing.

“Hey, Pop?” she asked.

Her father grunted in response.

“How much would it a telescope like this cost?"

“Second-hand?” he said, putting a sticker on the case reading $200.  “Maybe fifty bucks.”

Shermy looked from the sticker on the case to her father’s unchanging face.

“Oh, Okay.” She said, her hopes falling.

Filbrick sighed, he fixed his daughter with a look, over the top of his sunglasses.

His left eye the same warm brown as her own, his right eye was milky and scarred, his jowls and moustache quivered.

 “Tell ya what, squirt. There ain't much business for telescopes in these parts. We don't have much fancy scientist types in Glass Shard.. If it’s still here in three weeks, you can have it. Deal?”  he offered her his large hand.

“Deal.” She said, shaking his hand with her own tiny one. “Thank you, Pop! you're the best!”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it down already. I got a reputation to uphold don't I?”

Shermy watched him put the telescope on display in the window.

Maybe being an only child wasn't all bad.


	3. Age 16 (pt 1): The Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distressed young woman turns up at the Mystery Shack in the Fall of '86.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter bought to you by my shitty mental health, woo! This chapter is more where the T rating comes from, rated for swearing sex and alcohol mentions and adult situations. More STANGST by the bucketful. More terrible Pines communication skills. I swear I do actually love canon Stanford, he's my favourite character apart from the Mystery twins themselves. It's just he made some really fucked up decisions like even a demon was vagueing him about it. You know you've screwed up when an evil triangle is using you as an example of sibling morals. 
> 
> As per the first chapter: in Shermy's POV she calls Stanley "Stanford", in Stanley's POV he is referred to by his birth name.  
> The real Ford is through the portal by now. So assume "Stanford/Ford" = Grunkle Stan unless specified.
> 
> ( **A/N:** The soundtrack for this chapter is : [Sister by Mumford & Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZi8J-N5hZ8), [Homeward, These Shoes by Iron & Wine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHOPwsyYxtU) and [New Jersey by Red House Painters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o81keEwGQxc)) 

_(Shermy)_

A girl turned up at the Mystery shack with a busload of new money schmucks from New York.

“Please let me in, I don't have any money." she said, rubbing at the corner of her eye.

Her eyeshadow, a bright neon blue which had originally been on her lids now wiped in smudges onto her cheeks like clown paint. Her face was stained with black mascara streaks.  Her sweater was black with pink hearts on, the sleeves were too long for her.

She was young. She was _terrified._  

She heaved her duffle bag over a shoulder, and rushed to the ticket stand, where a bored-looking teenager sat with his stereo blaring in the background.

“I need to talk to Ford Pines, I have to see him. Please, I have to!” she said pushing her hair behind her ears, and wiping at her face.

The boy at the ticket stand was maybe a year older than her at a pinch. He had dirty blonde hair and a bucket hat. He hit the volume knob on his boom box, muting it.

“Look kid, no one gets in without paying.” He said, giving her a once over and deciding he was generally unimpressed.

“I do. It’s important. What the hell _is_ a mystery shack anyway? What happened to the lab? Where's Stanford? I _have to_ see him!”

The boy sighed at her, he fixed her with a long look and rolled his eyes skyward.

“Wait there.” He said finally. He headed into the strange triangular house, all the other tourists had disappeared into. She could hear him shouting from inside.

“Mr. Pines? There's a girl here to see you!” he yelled.

The sound of footsteps, her brother’s voice, rougher and more Jersey than she remembered.

 “A girl?” said Stanford, from inside somewhere.  “What girl?”

The blonde kid came out of the house and glanced at her.

“She's cute.” The kid said back over his shoulder “Maybe you should let her in. She might be a little young for you though.”

Shermy groaned internally. _Great , what a warm fucking welcome,_ she thought.

She stopped when she noticed her brother, frozen dead in his tracks staring at her, the colour draining out of his face.

Dressed in a brown suit with his signature horned frames and  a ridiculous fez on his head. He looked a lot older but he was still recognisable by his nose and general face shape.

She was surprised he even recognised her, it had been near on five years since they’d seen each other, and that had been pre-puberty for her.

To give him his credit he took her arrival in his stride and slapped the boy in the upside of his head with his 8 ball cane.

“Get your head out of the gutter, kid. Go! You're on tour duty.” said Stanford without missing a beat.

“But Mr Pines!” whined Bucket Hat rubbing his ear.

“Something came up, Daryl. Call it a family emergency."  He took off the fez and put it on the kid’s head, then he chucked the cane in his direction.

“Go on,  _get._  You're the Mystery Man now. Go collect that big city cash.”

The teen headed back inside the house cussing under his breath. It looked ridiculous while sporting a maroon fez too big for his skull over the top of the khaki bucket hat he was wearing. Her brother smiled a lopsided little smile.

“Shermy? What the hell are you doin’ here?” he said.

The girl stood there uncomfortable. She’d been watching the exchange with a growing expression of confusion.

_What was this place? Was this where he lived?_

“Hey Ford… not that I’m in any position to judge here but…did you start some kind of _cult_ here? Is that why you haven't come home for the holidays? You're busy leading some kind of..." She gestured widely at him and the house behind him. "...Mystery cult?" she guessed.

Her brother laughed at that. A deep chest-shaking laugh.

He shook his head. “Well, nice try, but no. Turns out grant money alone doesn't pay off the mortgage.”

She tried to smile but from Stanford’s reaction it mustn’t have been very convincing. His eyes moved from her makeup stained face to her duffle bag to the bus ticket in her hand. She could see the mental arithmetic pass through his eyes.

“Come inside, Sherm. Let me take your bag.”  He led her inside.

Shermy’s hand brushed the _mezuzah_ case on the way in.   _Safe,_ soothed the metal against her fingertips _, Safe, home._ She swallowed a sob, thinking of their family home back in Jersey. The apartment above the Pawn Shop she'd lived her entire life.

3 days travel by bus it had taken her to get to the doorway she was standing in and she didn’t even know if she’d be welcome here.  

Everything was confusing and she just wanted to sleep. 

* * *

 

Her brother led her into his kitchen. It was small and messy but surprisingly nice for a bachelor pad, she never really thought of Stanford as somebody with any kind of aesthetic taste, he was all tweed and turtlenecks and _Latin_. 

She sat down at the kitchen table, like she was just visiting her brother out of state. Everything was pally and fine, her life was a coffee commercial. Her worldview wasn’t rapidly spinning further out of her reach, everything was fucking wonderful. Right?

Her neck hurt. She felt like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders at only sixteen. Not for the first time in the last 72 hours she found herself mentally balancing up the pros and cons of existing, like a set of scales.

Ford opened the fridge, his back to her.

“Do you want a drink? We have…well we have soda and water and not much else.” He said.

She nodded, feeling outside of herself like she was nodding a puppet’s head.

“A soda’s fine, Thanks.”

Ford opened a pink can of something called ‘Pitt Soda’, and handed it to her. It was very sweet and tasted not unlike Mexican Cola.

Shermy tried to concentrate on whatever her brother was pattering on about.

“…I can put you in the other bedroom upstairs.” He was saying.  “It just needs a clean.”

Shermy rubbed her face with her hands, trying to wipe off the last of her makeup.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I'm doing here? You don’t wanna know what’s wrong?”

Stanford shook his head. “No. I know a runaway when I see one. It's none of my business, unless you _want_ to talk about it.”

His face was so deathly serious, she felt the lump she’d spent the last few days swallowing spring up again in her throat.  

Shermy shook her head, and then burst into tears. So much for her 'give no fucks' persona.

“A thanks would have been fine”, he joked, but she just cried harder into her folded arms on his kitchen table.

She heard Ford’s chair legs screech against the floor, and then a hand came to rest on her back.

“Look I'm here, Shermy. Mom and Dad don't have to know you're here straight away. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. You’re my sister, and you have a home here no matter what’s happened. There's no way I’d let my own blood go hungry and homeless while I still live."

She sniffed into her arms, her eyes and nose running.

 “I screwed up, Ford. I screwed up real bad and I don’t know where else I can go.”

“You’re safe here, squirt, regardless.” He moved his chair over so he could sit beside her.

“You don’t even know why I’m here, I-I could have _murdered_ someone for all you know!”  She said looking up from her arms.

“Did you?” he asked, face calm as a pond in winter. She had to mentally stop herself from punching him in his own kitchen.

 It was hard to do so when he was being so damn punchable.

“ _No_! Of course not.” Shermy furrowed her brow. _Is that what her brother thought of her? A murderer?_

“Then I don’t care. I'm not Mom or Pop. It's not my place. You made a mistake.  Bubs, I've been nothing but mistakes since I was seventeen.”

“Oh shut up _, shut up_. Cry me a fuckin’ river. You're the _perfect child._ You're the _wunderkind!_ You’ve never stepped a foot wrong in your life.” 

His lips twitched. “I cost me my twin brother. I don't know about you but I count that a big misstep.”

“No, your twin brother cost himself you. Besides, Stanley died in a car accident, Ford. You can't control that.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” He said with a sigh Shermy sensed the subject needed changing. She’d learnt enough about that from dealing with her parents as a child.

 “How have you been? It’s just you around? No secret woodsman family you got hiding out here?”

“Hah! As If. No, I don’t have anyone. I’ve been too busy with my work.” Stanford picked at some dirt under his fingernails. Shermy sulked.

“Ooh, it must have been super _important_ scientific work for you not to even call home in _five fucking years.”_ She spat.

Her arms wrapped tight around herself for comfort.

Ford let out a sigh. “Great, you’ve learned sarcasm and swearing in my absence. Please don’t suddenly morph into Mom now.”

“If I ever do, you have my own permission to take me out back with a shotgun like Old Man Yeller.” Her lips twitched at the corners, she was trying rather hard not to smile. She didn’t come here to play happy families.

“Morbid humour, I’m liking you even more now kid.”

Her brother chuckled, getting up from his chair and fetching himself a glass and a bottle. ‘18 year old malt whiskey’ said the label, faded in places.  She could smell it from where she sat.  _That shit’s older than I am._

“Yeah, well we’ve all got our own coping strategies.” She said briskly, not taking her eyes of the amber liquid he poured into his glass.

Stanford rolled his eyes yet again. “Thanks Ma.” he drawled.

“What happened to Fiddlesticks?” she asked changing tack.

Her brother quirked one big bushy eyebrow at her.  “Who?"

“Fiddleford. Y’know the McGucket guy? From Backupsmores? Weren’t you working together?”

“Oh right, there was a… uh a _falling out_ of sorts.” Said Stan not meeting her eyes, again.

He took a big sip of his whiskey. “Poor bastard, he’s really gone off the deep end since he left. Real paranoid like.”

  
“Yeah, well you’d know all about that wouldn’t you?” Shermy snapped. It was childish, but she was beyond caring what her brother thought of her by this point.

“Huh?” Either Ford's poker face had improved a ton or he had no clue what she was on about.

“Do you not remember? Those creepy messages you sent me when I was a kid, I had to go to the public library and look up what an Atbash was before I could find someone who could decipher it.  That was some serious spy shit, Ford. Too serious to load on a kid.”

Ford looked away. “I-I guess I forget about them”

“Well lucky fucking you, Stanford, those messages gave me nightmares for years. I thought you were in serious trouble, like you were being tortured or something!”

“Haha, come on, don’t be so dramatic, Sherm.” He said rubbing at his neck.

“Don’t ‘haha Sherm’ me. I was eight years old and I hadn’t heard from you for years.  What did you expect? I mean you could have sent a fucking birthday card:

Even just a letter: “Hey Family, I’m not dead.  Happy Hanukkah?’ Or something?”

“I should have, you’re right...”he started, but Shermy wouldn’t let him interrupt.

“I even got more word from Stanley than you and He’s been dead five years.”

Ford winced at that, it was a low blow but she didn't care.

“I was _eight_ , Ford. Eight years old, I had braces and an overactive imagination. I thought the Feds had got you, some spy agency looking for your research.

Those messages you sent me about eyes and trusting no one _what the hell_?

Was that some kind of joke? I was terrified you’d fallen into some dark underworld criminal network or something, I even told Mom I said ‘Ma I’m real worried about Stanford.’ and she told me you were just busy.

–She always says that, I think she believes it about as much as I do. She knows you’re not too busy, and you’re _purposely_ trying to get away from us!” 

Shermy was near screaming now, her throat was dry and she could taste metal.  

“You must think you’re _too good_ for us, with your doctorate and grants you’re far too good to ever have been some poor scrappy Jewish kid from New Jersey!”

Her brother’s face said she might as well just have kicked him. Ford just sat there not reacting. Not even a flicker of anger, just a sad scruffy puppy face.

 Shermy wanted him to be angry, she want him to stand up for himself for this to be a proper match. She didn’t want to be the villain here, the only one who was left wildly screaming.She wasn't going to let him paint her as over-emotional or angry.  No her brother knew what he had done he was just pretending he was above it all.

“Now don’t be like that. I do care about you. I miss you and Ma and Pops every day. My work is just very important.”

“What work could be more important than your family?” Her voice cracked again, exhaustion setting in. She didn't want to be tired, She wanted to scream and shout in the hopes she'd wake herself up from this hellish Freudian nightmare.

“Look, Sherm. I’m letting you keep your secrets, respect that I have mine.”

“Don’t you _dare_ compare my life, to yours, Stanford. You haven’t been in my life since I was five years old!”  

Not caring how stereotypically dramatic it was. She stomped out of the kitchen and out of the shack slammed the front door open and let the wind slam it closed.

 

* * *

_(Stanley)_

 

Stanley sat at the kitchen table rattled,  like in the wake of a hurricane, outside he watched his baby sister, now a young woman, stomp off towards the forest. 

He downed his whiskey, not even noticing the burn in his throat this time around.

Shermy had left her duffle bag on the kitchen floor. She would be coming back then, he thought with a sense of relief, she really has nowhere else left to go.

For now it would be best just to let her cool it off. She needed space.

He went upstairs to the attic, moving Ford’s notes and various machine parts into cardboard boxes.

Packing them away into a corner. He could look through their contents later when the situation had been dealt with.

His sister's voice was screaming in his mind “What work could be more important than your _family_?”

 _What work, indeed, kid?_ Stanley was still struggling to piece that together and it had been five years since the accident.

 He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the stained glass window, short brown hair with the line of grey coming in at the temple, the horn-rimmed glasses. Stanford Pines. Good God, he even _looked_ like him now. They were identical sure, but this was too much.

Out of long-forgotten boxer’s instinct Stanley’s hand became a fist before he even was aware of the rage bubbling up from somewhere well-buried. He punched the wall beside the window.  Hard. The wood connected with his fist and gave a shudder. It hurt, but the pain didn’t make him feel any better.

 “You absolute _bastard_.” He snarled to his reflection. “How, could you just take off for six years without a letter home or anything?  He rubbed his sore hand on his thigh. “How ungrateful do you have to be to just forget about the family who loved and raised you?”

_You did the same thing, Stanley. It’s been near five years since the funeral._

He growled – a low rumble deep in his throat— at his own thoughts. That was _different_ , if he spent too much time with them, they'd figure out he wasn't his twin. He couldn't always cover his tracks with six-fingered gloves and vaguely scientific sweeping statements. He would make a mistake eventually. That was Stanley did best, wasn't it? Make ridiculous mistakes.

Besides the sooner he got Ford back the better it’d be for the whole family.

He busied himself with setting up the spare mattress in the attic, into a makeshift bed for Sherm to sleep in. But it was actually pretty hard to make a bed when you were hysterically fuming.

How old was his sister now? Sixteen, seventeen? Not much younger than he was when he’d been kicked out some fifteen years ago. The poison he’d heard spilling out his little Shermy-Sherm’s mouth, it was painful to hear her suffering, almost as painful as it was for him answer to his brother’s name. Was there anything the twins had touched that they didn't ruin?

The kid who ‘Stanley’ had never met officially, not as himself. But he’d first met as a little girl at his own funeral, a little girl who for some reason adored Ford like he’d hung the fucking moon from the sky. How did Ford treat this kid? Apparently by completely ignoring her existence from what she had said. Poor thing, they both needed to work on getting some better role models.

What the hell had happened to drive her here so scared and angry like this? What had happened to the wise little girl from the funeral? Had Ford driven her to this? Had Stanley? Was this another scar he’d unknowingly carved into his family?

Fifteen years spent fighting for his life and no one else’s on the street, fifteen fucking years, of petty crime and starving and living out of his car, he’d reached a pretty damn low point in his life when at twenty-four he’d realised that Colombian prison actually had nicer facilities than what he’d had on the outside.

 Stan stuffed some pillows into clean cases and cleared a footlocker of dusty old tomes and more notebooks— Fiddleford’s this time, absurd sketches of some kind of whale robot— making some space for his sister to put her things.

He may have been Stanford Pines in name now, but he was still Stanley in experience and morals, and there was nothing the kid could do, that would make him ever want to kick her out. He could not leave that terrified young woman when she was begging for help.

Homelessness was not a punishment, exile was not a punishment. He was not his father and he was not a fifteen-year-gone mistake. He was Stanford Pines and he could be a good brother. He fetched a camping lantern from the basement for her to use as a bedside light and he’d straightened the covers of the bed.

Almost an hour had passed, he was deliberating over when he should go after her, pacing back and forth in the gift shop, checking the stock. Trying to still his trembling hands.

The shop phone rang, he had answered it before Daryl’s head even appeared in the doorway. No good kid. Stan would sack him if he could afford a replacement.

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, this is Stan.”  

“Stan, this is Deputy Blubs down at the Gravity Falls PD.”

Shit, what was their problem this time? Was it the raccoon thing, it probably was the raccoon thing. But where else was he supposed to keep them? There was a real lack of designated raccoon farming areas.

“One of our officers picked up a distressed young lady wandering the highway, and she claims to be staying with you, is this correct?” the deputy said. He could imagine the guy in his mind’s eye: short, black and round, close cut hair and a moustache.

“Shermy? Yes she’s staying with me, she’s my sister. Is she alright, she’s not hurt?” images of his sister, crushed or bleeding and broken sprung up unbidden from somewhere deep in his mind. He felt sick.

“No, Mr Pines she’s alright, just a little shook up. She’s down at the precinct if you could come and collect her.”

 “Of course, deputy.” He hung up the phone. He'd never been so relieved to hear from the police in his life.

“Daryl you can go home early if you close up first,” he shouted over his shoulder as he moved through the house grabbing his keys and another jacket because it looked like it might rain.

Daryl gave a grunt back in acknowledgment. Stan paused at the door, there was one last thing he needed. He turned back down the hall and grabbed the pair of black six-fingered gloves from a drawer in his office.

She hadn’t noticed yet, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. Even Stanley didn’t want to be stuck with Stanley.

He was in the car within two minutes and pulling into the police station parking lot in ten.

“Sherm?” he asked, swinging open the door. She was sitting in the waiting room with a female officer and a half-drunk cup of cocoa.

“Hey.” She said, eyes unfocused. Her voice was hoarse and she looked like she'd been saved from a shipwreck. Her jeans were wet and muddied, there was a twig sticking out of her sweater neck a scratch on her cheek.

“Are you okay?” asked her, the image of a quiet eleven year old in a black dress crying on the day of his own funeral burned into his skull.

Shermy shrugged. “The jury's still out on that one.” She muttered into her polystyrene cup. “I'm unhurt if that's what ya meant.”

Stan just nodded, not even sure what to say to that. He turned to the officer beside her. She had thick dark curly hair and a roman nose.  He recognised her from around town. Linda or Lorna or something.

“Is everything okay here, do I need to sign anything?”

“No.” said Linda or was it Lana? He couldn't remember. “She's not here under any charges, it's just we can't release a minor except in the custody of a guardian.”

Stan nodded, clearing his throat.. “I'm her brother, will that do?

The woman smiled, looking genuinely touched by his anxious big sibling compassion.

“Of course, Stan. Ms Pines is free to go.” She said with another small smile towards Shermy, who was picking bits of twig and pine needles from her sweater.

“Come on, Shermy. Let's go.” she nodded, and thanked the policewoman, handing her the cup.

“I'm sorry.” She said to Stanley in the parking lot, “I didn’t want to call you all the way out here.”

“Its fine, kid. Are ya hungry?” He asked.

She shrugged. “Sure I guess. I haven’t eaten today.”

“Want to grab a burger? I know a place to stop with a great view.”

 

* * *

_(Shermy)_

 

They sat eating their burgers, in Stan’s car, parked in a Lovers Lane like spot, the ridge overlooking a huge green expanse of land, it was a good place, they could see over the miles of forest and it was early enough, Ford had said, that they wouldn’t be bothered by hordes of horny teenagers.

Shermy put her fries down on the dash. She took a deep breath.

“Hey, Stanford. Can I tell you somethin’?”

 _Be brave, Sherm, he’s your brother._ She wanted to listen herself, really she did.

“Sure.” He said, voice cautious.

Her throat was closing up. “But you gotta promise not to get mad at me.”

“I promise, I promise. How can I get mad at that face?” She could feel his eyes on her but she dared not look at them.

She was crying before she could even open her lips to speak. She let the tears roll down her cheeks, unwiped. She stopped to shove the last of her fries in her mouth.

She was so tired, so wanted desperately to just curl up somewhere and not deal with any of this.

“Again with the crying?” her brother said, sounding uncomfortable.

She remembered all those years ago, in the backseat of the family car and how awkward he had been when she started to cry on his jacket sleeve.  

“Shut up, asshat. I'm trying to tell you something important here.” she growled.

Ford held up his hands, the universal sibling gesture for peace.

“Stanford I- I’m I-….” _Fuck everything why was this so hard?_

He waited patiently as she sobbed. Finally she got the words out. They sounded dead and monotone as if she was keeping a distance between herself and the words.

“I'm pregnant.” she said. She was staring straight ahead off into the valley.

It was a pretty afternoon in early fall. You could see for miles from here, layers of green and brown. _Pines upon Pines._

She heard her brother clear his throat. She didn’t turn to look him in the eyes.

 “Oh- O-Okay” he said, after a few long seconds.

She snorted, a hiccuping mess for relief and fear.

“What do you mean Okay? It’s not okay, I'm sixteen and _I'm terrified._ It’s anything _but_ okay.”

“Of course it's not I just I mean I guessed that it would be something similar and  sure, it's not a great time for you but it could be worse?”

“What could be worse than me… _expecting_?” she didn’t want to say the p-word again now it had been said outright once. She was going to bury herself in euphemisms in the hope it would somehow make her less scared.

Her brother thought for a bit, taking a long drawn out slurp of his soda.

“You could also have a mullet.”  He said, with a smirk.

She laughed at that despite herself. “Oh yeah, I'm young, unmarried and under qualified to bring a new life into the world but at least I don't have a fucking _mullet_.”

“That’s the spirit! Look on the bright side!”

She elbowed him in the ribs, and stole a few of his fries. _Look on the fucking bright side,_ really _Stanford?_ She sided-eyed her brother, he was gazing at her, he seemed unsure of what to say next. He didn’t look angry though, she’d been expecting angry.

“You’re, you're really not mad at me?” the panic that had been building up in her gut was audible in her voice. “Why aren't you mad at me?”

“You made me promise not to be.” He said, it was a cop out of an answer.

Sherm snorted, even though everything felt so out of her control.

 “Since when did _you_ care about keeping promises?” she muttered.

Ford let that slide. “Shermy I’m not Ma. You can tell me things and I’m not gonna start shrieking blue murder. Look I get it, this is a serious situation you’re in. Even more reason for you to have someone there for you. This isn’t something for you to do alone.

“What am I gonna do?” she asked, her hands came to rest briefly on her stomach, but she jerked them away as if she’d touched something scalding.

“That’s not my choice to make, Shermaine.” He said gently. His face almost fatherly, in concern. Except of course _their father_ barely ever showed concern in his life.

“I don’t want it to be _mine_. I’m sixteen, Ford!  I made one stupid spur-of-the-moment mistake.” Her voice drew shrill, as more tears threatened to spill over her lashes. Everything around her was peeking through a tear-lensed halo of lights and colours.

She put her head in her hands, ignoring the salt and grease from the fast food she’d been eating. Her brother watched her, still slurping on his soda. Thinking of what to say.

“Look, _bubbele_. I know you made a mistake. I’m not going be the one to hold that against you.” 

 He sighed, looking away. “I should’ve learned my lesson from Stanley” he added.

 _Stanley,_ the name was always a shadow to her. An old family photograph, a wooden box in the earth. Still it had enough history to bring a wave of bile up burning at her throat.

“Mom and Pop aren’t gonna disown me aren't they, Ford? They're not gonna just kick me out like Stanley. I can’t even _drive_ yet!” Cold panic set in, her parents weren’t bad people she knew that in her heart of hearts but she was the same age as Stanley had been, history wouldn’t repeat itself, would it? _Would it?_

“Honestly? I dunno Sherm. But, when they call we’ll sort something out, whatever happens, I’d never let you go homeless.  I know it’s not much, but you got a place here with me. If you ever need it.”

“Thanks, Ford.” She said. She didn’t know what else to say, so she took a sip of her drink.

“Anytime, small fry.” Said her brother after some thought.

“What are you going to say though, if they call your house?”

She was staring out at the view, you could see some of the tops of houses from here, and some _weird_ kind of suspension bridge?

“What do you want me to say? I’m not that fond of lying to my parents.”

Shermy smirked, straw still pressed against her lips. “That implies you have lied to them before, wunderkind.”

Her brother sniggered at that. “Hey kid, I was sixteen once too, y’know?”

“Oh, _I know_. Believe me no one could let me forget what happened even If I wanted to.”

“They still go on about it, huh?” Ford rubbed at his temples.

“Not explicitly. Mom and Dad fought for a bit after the funeral. But they calmed down eventually. Ma was just angry at everything that moved. Didn’t help when Pop said he had hoped one day he’d go find him, the son he kicked out at 17 and find him somehow magically a changed man.”

Ford laughed, but this the sound was empty of mirth and bitter. It made the hair on her neck stand on end. For a brief second he looked nothing at all like the brother she knew.

 “How did he expect that? He didn’t even let him pack more than one change of clothes?How does he think the streets are that some 17-year-old uneducated Jersey Boy is gonna magically stumble across a plan to cure world hunger or turn shit ta gold, whatever it was he wanted?”

“That’s essentially what Ma said, she said he should’ve thought of that sooner, not after her baby boy was rotting in a box. I dunno why dad never tried, maybe he didn’t want to admit he fucked up as a father.” She sighed, thinking of her parents made her chest hurt right now.

“Yeah, Stanley was dumb as bricks, he was a dumb, pig-headed, destructive little shit, but he didn’t even give him a _chance_ Sherm, None of us did. We’re as much responsible for his death as the car or the gorge he crashed into.”

Shermy considered saying no he wasn’t, but Ford seemed pretty set to hang himself as a villain, responsible for his brother’s death.

She doubted anything she could say would change his mind. Instead she put her hand on his knee, and said nothing.

Her brother, instinctively, put his hand over hers. Six-fingers in a black glove. It felt familiar.

“Anyway, any other soul-destroying secrets you want to get off your chest while we’re at it?” He asked, changing the subject with the subtlety of an avalanche.

Shermy guessed the years hadn’t been kind to her brother that alone was obvious by his greying hairline and 5’o clock shadow.

She shrugged, wiping leftover tears on to the sleeve of her sweater. He turned his face to look her in the eye and let out a dry chuckle.

 He knew he was being obvious and he didn’t care. Some subjects were better left buried in a New Jersey cemetery.

 _Soul-destroying secrets, eh?_ She thought for a bit.  _Eh, fuck it. In for a penny_ , _in for a pound._

“I’m pretty damn queer.” She announced with the exhausted confidence of someone who really had nothing left to lose.

“I mean, boys are great, girls are great. I’m all about all of that.”

“Okay?” Her brother looked, like he didn’t exactly know how to react. But he wasn’t angry nor did he look disgusted.  Just kind of winded-looking.  Perhaps he was regretting asking.

“Oh right, you remember a kid called Crampelter?” she asked.

“Ugh, yeah. Unfortunately.” Ford scrunched up the bridge of his nose.

Shermy grinned, "I dated his sister for a bit” 

  
“What really?” Stanford, didn’t seem to know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“Allison yeah.” She sighed, dreamily, “She was so nice.”

“So Shermy… I... Um. I’m assuming... Uh… well what I mean…was…uh... are you…. I mean obviously you have ….I mean…for you to be.”

“What?” she chuckled “What are you stuttering on about?”

“Ah, forget it, kid it’s not important.”

“If you were stumbling all over how I got… this way, let me put your mind at ease. This isn’t no divine intervention. I slept with a guy. At a party, it wasn’t my brightest moment but hey, it happened.”

“ _Shermaine_! I don’t want to know about it.” She never seen her brother all flustered before, that was new.

“It’s just sex, you nerd. It’s a fact of life. Don’t need to act like it’s the fucking plague. Its 1986, Ford.  I’m a modern woman.”

“You’re _my baby sister_. The last time we spent together, you were barely outta diapers.”

“I was eleven! I mean, yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve met.  But _whose fucking fault_ was that? I’ve grown up in the last 5 year or so. I’m sixteen, Stanford!My life isn’t all beaches and shooting stars now. I’m on the school newspaper, I do debating. I have my own group of friends, theatre kids like me. There’s a whole queer arty scene in Glass Shard now. It’s not just 50’s themed diners these days.”

“It’s just weird to me, it’s changed that much huh?”

“I guess. Things change, Ford.”

“I know they do.” he said quietly.

She remembered something. An anecdote.

“Oh yeah. Also I forgot to say, last year I almost got suspended because I punched a boy out cold when he wouldn’t leave me alone after I asked him to stop. They only didn’t call in Mom and Pop because one of the other girls stood up for me and I burned the letter they sent home."

Ford looked like she'd just told him she'd jumped over the moon.

“Holy Shit. Good job, Sherm.” he said, beaming.

She laughed. “Thanks, I knew you’d like that one. I think Pop would have too, to be honest, if he wasn’t so busy pretending to be disappointed.”

“Ma would flay him alive, for encouraging her baby girl into a life of violence.”

“I’m sure she would. She did when he taught me how to box, I got one hell of a right hook.” She snapped her hand into a fist, popping her knuckles loudly.

“Yeesh, remind me not to get on the wrong side of that.” Said Stanford, wincing.

“Nah, Ford. You’re all right. A little assholey around the edges but aren’t we all?”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“Good. Are you gonna finish those?” she pointed at his unfinished fries in his lap.

Her brother groaned and passed her the pager bag.

“Hmph. But it's only ‘cause you’re eating for two.”

“You’re the best, bro.” Shermy said, as she stuffed the fries he offered into her mouth.

 Ford put the key in the ignition. His rusty old car rattled into action

“Let’s go home, then. To the shack, if that’s alright with you."

Shermy buckled her seat belt and put her feet up on the dash.

 _That could have gone a lot worse,_ she thought to herself.

“Home sounds good, Stanford.” She said softly.


	4. Interlude 1: Ruminations (Stanford)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford Pines is back safe in his own dimension, but what does he have left to come back to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the next Sherm-centric chapter is taking me a while to write I thought I'd upload the first of the non-Shermy Interludes. This chapter is set immediately after ATOTS. It's looking into Ford's mental state and why he might be so angry at his twin apart from the Science Fair incident. In this canon Stanford is neuroatypical/psychotic (as someone with paranoia and psychotic symptoms I love him and identify with him a lot).
> 
> triggers for discussion of mental illness, psychosis and hallucinations
> 
> ( **A/N** The soundtrack for this chapter is two songs:  [Let the River In ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHz8HzvgSkA)and [The Crooked Kind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLGdtMZbX6s) both by Radical Face.)

 

Interludes

**Rumination (Stanford Pines)**

 

Stanford Pines lay awake in his own house. In his own bed. In his own dimension. Even one out of the three should have been a victory. To get all three was statistically improbable. Thirty-three years of drifting homeless through the multi-verse. Thirty three years of unbelievable sights and cities. Thirty-three years spent mostly alone. He didn't know if he could sleep after the events of the evening. His arms and legs were restless, twitching constantly trying to keep up with his racing mind.

His stream of consciousness was more like a tidal wave, a burst dam wild and unwieldy. Ford was caught up in it all, the whispering, the paranoia, the events of the day, the new facts to memorise new names and dates. Stanley’s face, the sensation of his brother's cheek against his fist.

His twin brother, as old and grey as his own reflection. A painfully ironic effigy of their father. Their l _ate_ father, that was. Filbrick Pines was dead now. Opal Pines even longer gone than her husband.  He didn't know what he felt about that. Any time he felt himself get close to some kind of emotion it dissipated. It sublimed up into the atmosphere and Ford was left feeling the hollow absence of pain. 

Then there were the children, his great niece and nephew. The great part was ridiculous enough.    His last memory of Shermaine was as an over- eager five year old with a love for stories and the stars. Now here were her two twelve year old grandkids, a cheerful girl with her eyes and zest for life and an intelligent boy born with the Stars on his head. Ursa Major, he remembered telling Shermaine about that constellation, one winter when he’d gone home for Hannukah and he’d brought with him a telescope so they could see the stars together. He tried to sense what he felt about that too, but there was nothing just gauze and iodine in the place where once were feelings.

Ford closed his eyes. The whispering was soft and neutral. Sometimes he caught snatches of it he thought he understood. Voices old and reverent like memories of long-since whispered Hebrew. It didn't scare him, nor did the things he saw in the shadows, the patterns casting through the gaps in his blinds which morphed and bled and sometimes became people. Hallucinations could keep him company. A quiet familiarity to the shapes and the sounds, like half-remembered dreams. Ford welcome them now, recognising them for what they were. _Harmless_. The multiverse didn't allow for any kind of regularly scheduled medication, he had to make do with what he had access to. Besides, he thought, Paranoia as a survival skill definitely had its place.  The hallucinations that didn't use Bill as fuel were harmless as far as he was concerned, Ford had enough nightmare fuel to last him several lifetimes.

He was tired, no scratch that he was fucking exhausted. Thirty-three years? He was twenty-nine years old when he went in to the portal that would make him sixty-two when he came out. If it was summer April Fool’s day had come and past. Give or take several months. He was sixty-two.

He’d told his brother to give him his life back, but what life did Stanley have to give him? 

Another thirty three years, perhaps. _If he was lucky_ , with the large amount of radiation his work exposed him to, paired with a genetic predisposition to certain cancers, well it made him doubtful either Ford or his twin would live to see ninety.

 _Focus, Sixer.  You’ll feel better once you have some facts._ The voice in his head was a startling hybrid of his brother, Fiddleford and Bill. He forsook sleep for now, pushing back the covers and turning on the bedside lamp. Stanley had bought him his journals in a pile before heading to bed himself and he left them on his nightstand.

“Thought ya might be needing some light readin’, Poindexter.” he'd said, looking him in the eyes for a split second and then thinking better of it. “’s your house as you said, you've got the full run of it while the kids are asleep just don't do anything ta wake them. They’ve been through enough as is.” His face had been close enough for Ford to smell the whiskey on his breath, his jaw was squared and there was something in his face that was so painfully familiar his brain kept replaying the image over and over in his head, ringing early warning klaxons. _Important memory! Remember that face! Important!_ But he was coming up with nothing.

Sitting up in bed he looked over at the books.  His brother had piled them up out of numerical order, just to piss him off. Ford sighed. Some things were ever-constant.

 “That’s real petty, Stanley.” He muttered to the air, stacking them up 1, 2, 3 again.

Hidden in between 3 and 1 another thin black notebook slipped out, hidden in the pile by the size of the journals.

It slipped out of his grasp and fell to the floor.

That wasn't one of his.

He picked it up, it was a sleek Faux leather notebook with the word _memorandum_ inscribed in gold.

Inside it was a list of dates and names, several pages of notes and diagrams written in an elegant flowing cursive that was not his own, nor Stanley’s.

At the bottom were the words:

 

_No more excuses, Stanford- Sherm xoxo_

 

He frowned to himself. What excuses? His sister hadn’t heard from him in over thirty years.

Then it hit him, she thought Stanley was him. Had he been making excuses in his twin’s name?

He turned to the first page.

‘ _Pines Family c1925-2015’_   his sister had written one the first page.

Stanford closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Here goes._

 

* * *

 

He’d managed to get some answers from his brother earlier that night, when the kids had gone to bed, and they'd been left there having their slightly heated discussion about Stanley’s place in the house once the summer was over. They’d moved to opposite sides of the living room. Ford took a seat in one of the armchairs.

 _Don’t trust him_ , said a whisper,  _Is he even your family_?

"So Dipper and Mabel are Sherm’s kids?" Ford asked trying to ignore the voice's advice.

“Grandkids.” said his brother.

Ford frowned, the math wasn't working in his head, either way he worked it either his sister or nephew became a parent while still practically a child.

“Are you certain Stanley, that just _doesn't_  add up.”

“I'm pretty damn sure, Sixer. Seeing as I lived it and all.” His brother snapped. “I remember when Isaac, the twins’ Dad was born. I flew home to stay with them and visit Sherm in the hospital.”

“So Isaac is my nephew right? Dipper and Mabel are my great nephew and niece?”

Stanley was staring at the floor now. “Yeah.”

A thought had struck him dumb then. Here was he cataloging the new names when he hadn't spared a thought for the ones he already knew. What year was it again?

2015 they had said.

His brother unlocked one of the wooden cabinets in the corner,  and poured himself a whiskey in one of the crystal glasses Ford’s undergraduate supervisor had  given him as a graduation present.

“Do ya drink? I don't remember?” Stan asked. He was hardly looking at him, as if the whiskey cradled in one hand was far more important than anything else in the room.

Ford set his jaw, biting down hard, teeth grinding teeth. He held his tongue and his fists. He would get no answers by throwing more punches. It was just Stanley he could tolerate one exchange.

 _You shouldn’t have to tolerate him_ , said a new whisperer, a voice bitter and male _._

 _‘Hey, you leave ‘em alone, boy.’_ Whispered a woman’s voice, with a thick Polish accent like his grandmother. ‘ _They’re family.’_

Ford realised his brother was staring, he shook his head to dispel the conversation. What had Stanley asked him? His eyes tracked to the bottle. Oh, Right.

”Ah, no. thank you.’ He managed to get out.

Stan put the bottle back. He busied himself with things on shelves, flipping through stray magazines and picking up after the kids. He was acting all apathetic and debonair like he usually did when he was in a sulk, Ford noticed wryly. His brother’s tells hadn't changed since they were ten.

Ford cleared his throat, his voice grew husky but he managed to get and hold his brother's eye contact without feeling sick long enough to ask him the question. He tap-tapped his nails in a six-fingered wave on the counter top.

“Ley, it's a stretch but, Mom and Pop?”

Stanley frowned, he slowly shook his head.

“I'm real sorry, Ford.” He said, and he meant it.

Ford’s brain recorded it for later when he wanted to imagine his brother apologising for all the shit he'd done. He knew well enough he wasn’t going to get a real one any time soon.

His twin dithered around a bit. “Ah, let’s see. Mom died in 97’, Cancer. Liver I think.” He paused to take a sip of whiskey.

Stanford dug his nails so hard into his palms they beaded out tiny red specks of blood. His stupid brother and his _fucking_ comedic timing. He probably wasn’t even aware of it anymore, it just happened.

 “Dad held on to a good old age, 88 if I remember correctly. Lost him a year or two ago. Sherm was there. I tried to get on a plane to be there in time…but I-I missed him.” His voiced faltered.

Oh. Ford didn't feel anything when Stan had told him. He’d just nodded, looking away.  Let his brother think he didn't care for this family, maybe he didn’t. It was so hard to tell anymore.

Both his parents were dead. He repeated the fact over and over in his head as he sat there in his room in the silence. Their names and dates, birth, marriage, death, stared out of the lined pages in his sister’s neat cursive, much easier to read than his own notes. He felt nothing. He knew there should be emotions there but he felt hollowed out: a vessel with no contents. Where was his Anger, his Bargaining, and his Depression? He was the emotional equivalent of a vacuum, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

_“Filbrick W Pines (15 April 1925-1 st September 2013) _

_Opal A Ersatz (5 th October 1929- 30th May 1997_ _)_

_Married Jersey City, NJ.  June 18 th 1951.”_

Then his own name popping out of the pages at him, paired with his brother. Shermy had even included his qualifications.

_“Stanley Franklin Pines* (1 st April 1953-- 26th July 1982) _

_(Dr) Stanford Filbrick Pines (BSc, Honours, Phd in Astrophysics) (1 st April 1953--)_

_*Six Minutes older”_

Growing up with a shared birthday on April Fool’s day had been, _interesting_ to say the least. Usually they were too busy celebrating to have time for large scale chaos but Stanley, the mastermind, always found a way to get something under the adult’s radars.  A bucket on a doorway or a flour bomb in a mailbox usually quenched his brother's thirst for mischief, though when they grew older they had pulled off some more spectacular birthday pranks by combining Ford’s science and Stan’s salesmanship. His personal favourite being the incident with the phenolphthalein and the school swimming pool.

A date on the page in front of him, stopped dead his train of thought.

_“Stanley Franklin Pines (1st April 1953-- **26th July 1982)”**_

Ford read that again, again, and again. Almost a month after the date of the accident labelled as his brother’s date of death.

 His twin brother who right this second now slept in the room above him. His date of death. Shermy thought Stanley was thirty years underground. From what Ford could piece together from their brief conversation earlier Stanley had attended his own funeral. As if he were Stanford Pines.

He scrolled down the page Shermy had written her own details.

_Shermaine Batsheba Pines b. 18 th August 1970 _

Her birthday and birthplace. The same as the twins:  Glass Shard Beach, NJ.

_David S Chapman, married 21 st September 1990 in Shaar Zahav Synagogue, San Francisco, CA._

His baby sister was married. His baby sister had had a son ( _Isaac Stan Pines_ ) at sixteen to an unnamed father and later married and had twin girls ( _Miriam Andromeda and Samantha Hypatia-_ Ford could at least appreciate his sister’s love for astronomy had not changed). He wasn't just a Grunkle but a regular Uncle, and here were three generations of Pines twins.

At the top of the next page his sister had included young Isaac Pines’ marriage in 2003 to one “Laura A Hirsch” and the rather quick arrival of the twins afterwards. A splatter of black ink had been spilled on the next entry.  Likely from his brother’s clumsiness, it made Shermy’s original entry nigh indecipherable and Ford seen had his fair share of indecipherable text. As if to remedy this underneath the ink stain Stanley had rewritten:

_“Mabel Laura Pines & “Dipper” Isaac Pines (b. 31st August 2003, Mabel- 5 minutes)”_

No first name for Dipper, Ford noted. Either Stan had forgotten it (the most likely hypothesis) or for whatever reason didn’t like calling the kid by it. Either way it didn’t matter to Ford. Dipper suited his nickname. It reminded Ford of Shermy. After the kids’ entry there was no more notes that he could he could see, he checked the front and back covers for any secret notes and tried under black light.

Nothing _._

 _Not everyone needs to be as paranoid as you, Sixer_. Said that familiar voice again.

He gave the notebook a shake.

A white paper envelope slipped out.

Inside were a couple of photos amongst various newspaper clippings and kids’ drawings. More family keepsakes he guessed. He glanced at them briefly, but his eyelids were starting to droop. Maybe further investigation was better left until later.

Yet one of the pictures caught his eye.

The first photo on top was a slightly blurred picture of his brother in a dark suit and _yarmulke,_ grinning like a complete idiot in the most Stanley expression he'd ever seen.

Scooped up in his arms was a young woman in a lace wedding gown who could easily have been mistaken for an older Mabel at a glance. Ford found himself staring at her memorising every detail of her face his memory creating a composite of the details, her bone structure was thin and more jutting than Stanford and his brother, the side profile he could see in photo, as she tossed her head back in laughter, belonged to his mother’s line. The Ersatz cheekbones tended to travel down the women in the family, whereas Ford and his brother took more after their father, with the nose.

Her eyes were still the same amber he remembered, her hair was elaborately pinned up on top of her head, decorated with her veil and flowers but it seemed to be the same dark brown as his own. She was so utterly delighted, her mouth wide open perhaps in laughter perhaps a small shriek of surprise, her legs akimbo in the air as Stanley gathered her up fireman-style in his arms. She was so delighted, so beautiful, so _eerily familiar_ , but she wasn't his sister. His sister was a fluffy-haired five year old who wore pinafores and asked too many questions.

 This woman, this bride, this mother, she was a stranger to him. Shermaine Pines was his baby sister, Shermaine Pines was a pre-schooler. He turned the photo over, in his mother’s handwriting were the words “Shermaine & Stanford” scrawled in fading pen with the date.

His chest hurt, his emotions still blunted and flat but now there was something there. A small seed of a feeling dull and aching had taken root in his chest. Gone was most of his initial anger at the situation, but more threatened to flood up from untapped reservoirs.

Shermy Chapman-Pines, Ph.D. mother, grandmother, award winning journalist -was a stranger to him, yes. But he was not a stranger to her. No, this photo alone was proof of that. Stanford Pines had been at his sister’s wedding. Stanford Pines had been there for the birth of her children. Stanford Pines had been with his sister to mourn the death of both of their parents. Stanford Pines had always been there for her, his baby sister who loved the stars so fondly she named two children after astronomers and one for her favourite galaxy.

It just wasn’t _him_.  

When Isaac was born, did Stanley know the story behind the name? Did Stanley remember that early New Jersey morning, on the pier? Did he remember sketching a little girl with an apple? Or how this little girl shone so brightly she could just reach right in and pull him out of the darkness in his head?

If Stanley gave him his life back would he ever get back those thirty years?

He closed the book, leaving it on his nightstand with the journals. He switch off his lamp and rolled back under his sheets, too hot to pull up the rest of his covers. He was home now, he told himself. He was home.

A new voice, liberated from his own memory whispered to him as his closed his eyes.

 _“‘Nuh-night Ford.”_  Said little Shermaine, and even though he knew it wasn’t her, the reply still left his mouth almost instantly.

“Goodnight, squirt.”


	5. Age 23: The Daily Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At age 23, on her brothers' birthday Shermy's mental health catches up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a surprise another depressing chapter. I swear i'm not projecting here!  
> Basically I wanted to look at what happens when you forgo your own mental health from the age of five, for the sake of holding your whole family together. More OCs making an appearance in this chapter who were mentioned in the last one. The Chapman-Pines Family: David, Isaac, Miriam and Samantha. Miriam also makes an appearance as an obnoxious young adult in "Born to Bee Wild." I still love the Pines parents as characters they're both very flawed and interesting characters to write and I feel like they affected their kids more than they let on.  
> (Stanford = Stanley/ Grunkle Stan again)
> 
> trigger warnings in this chapter for: suicide mention, negative self-talk, suicidal ideation and discussion of mental health issues especially depression.
> 
> ( **A/N:** I also now have a [companion mix ](http://8tracks.com/jenbones/sister)for this fic on 8tracks if you're interested in listening along. I'm still gonna add soundtracks for each chapter though because 8tracks has too many limitations to include everything in one mix.  The tracks for this chapter are [Kin by Radical Face,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzpdgWkQMzc) [Same Mistakes by Paper Aeroplanes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgUVcTj3wfM) & [Bitter Water by The Oh Hellos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGGJJjiESpc) )  
> 

 

She was twenty three years old, she had three kids under the age of ten, she was working sixty hours a week in a job she loved and she was married to the light of her life who was and always would be her favourite person in the world.

_She wanted to die._

It was a quiet little thought, it had surfaced while she was doing the laundry, popped out when she made Isaac's bed.

 _Hi_ , it said _, I don't want exist anymore. You might wanna do something about that._

Sherm had gathered it up with the old sheets and bedclothes and buried it at bottom of the laundry basket where she didn't have to look at it.

It came back later that night. The kids were asleep, she was lying in bed her head against David’s bare chest, the two of them wrapped up together in a chrysalis of covers.

They were watching reruns of Seinfeld and she felt the laugh track seep out of the TV and David laughed in time with it.

Was that even real laughter? Did she ever laugh like that these days? She didn't remember.

 _Hey_ , said the thought, _it's me again I still want to die. I'm not going to go away._

Oh, she thought, burying her face into her husband’s chest. Oh shit.

“Something wrong, pine nut?  David asked, one arm resting on his forehead and the other on her back just above the waistband of her pajama shorts.

He moved that hand up and rubbed at the small of her back. The slow seeping misery faded for a few seconds.

“Yeah, I’m just stressing.” She murmured into warm brown skin, “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” On the TV Jerry had just told a girl George was a marine biologist, and now he was trying to come up with a story about a whale.

She liked the show well enough usually but couldn’t find the energy tonight to focus on it or care.

“About the report for the Chronicle?” Shermy nodded. It wasn’t a lie, she wasn’t done with that article and the deadline was approaching, but she was more concerned with her own voice in her head stating as plain as day that she didn’t want to exist.

David brushed her hair behind her ear and smiled. She relaxed a little.

“There’s not much you can do about it now, Sherm. You either get in on time or not.”

 “Yeah, I know but my brain just won’t turn off.” She said, frustrated.

 _I just want to turn everything off_ she thought, _just for a bit._

He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Try get some rest, at least.”

David went back to watching TV.  Shermy rolled into the crook of his arm while absent-mindedly drew shaped like constellations on her back with his fingernails until her breathing relaxed.

She tried to think of nothing but that just filled her mind with thoughts, so instead she let them come fragments of memories, snippets of conversation and George Constanza telling a story about a whale. 

 

* * *

 

Wednesday rolled around, the first of April and all the emotional hell that brought with it.

Her day already was off to a rocky start. She’d been awoken at 4am by one twin screaming and Shermy knew she only had a window of seconds before the other sister woke up and joined in enough to wake the neighbourhood.

Sherm rolled out from David’s arm flung wide across her in his sleep.

He snuffled and rolled back on to his side of the bed unaware of his screaming progeny.

He slept like the dead and she hated it, if it had been Isaac waking she’d have sent David, but the twins were much too time sensitive to bother rousing him.

She shuffled down the hallway banging into the doorframe at least once before she opened her eyes fully.

Samantha was sitting upright in her crib screaming out all the air her tiny lungs could take.

“Ssssh, Sammy.” She said lifting the toddler on to hip,”What's wrong?” in her own crib Miriam started to stir.

_Shit, not now. Please not both of them right now._

“Shh, what's wrong honey? She asked again soothing her daughter with a squeeze and a sigh.

“Bunny.” She managed to make out. “Fall down.”

Samantha had taken so long to say her first word they'd been worried, at 15 months they'd taken her to the doctor.

“Twins just take longer” he’d said, which rubbed Shermy the wrong way.

She'd checked with her mother who reported that was not the case at all for her brothers, and while the twins were saying the usually baby babble at the expected ages Stanley had learnt the word “No” at  10 months old and quickly taught it to his twin, and it had taken a few stressful months  for either brother to learn any other words.

Sam eventually came out with her first word at 18 months, and quickly expanded her vocabulary to catch up with her twin. She was a resourceful little bean.

Shermy looked around in her daughter’s crib, the Peter Rabbit stuffed toy she slept with was nowhere to be found.

“Where did bunny go, Sam?” she asked.

“All gone.” Samantha replied, that was her favourite phrase at the moment, lots of things could be “all gone” according to Samantha: her breakfast, her pants, and her sister’s ice cream for example.

However Shermy’s ‘4am panic mode brain’ cared nothing for child acquisitional linguistics and everything for where the fuck Peter Rabbit was hiding in her daughters’ tiny bedroom.

“Mmh?” murmured Miriam, bleary eyes. Not yet awake but rousing.

“Go back to sleep, baby. It’s nothing.”

“Merm.” Said Samantha. Her first and most favourite word, now frequently-used and infamous within the family it had quickly become her sister’s nickname.

“Merm-Merm.” She repeated to herself, head against Shermy’s chest, eyelids drooping.

Shermy sighed. “Merm’s sleeping, _bubbele_ , and you should be too." she soothed.

“Bunny. Fall down.” Samantha Chapman-Pines did not let up on the pressing issues. Her mother silently cursed her own genetics.

“Yeah, let’s find your bunny first. That’s obviously a matter of great international importance, I’m sure.”

Sherm was so fucking tired she didn’t know what she was saying anymore.

She lowered Sam back into her crib and searched around on her hands and knees for Peter Rabbit.

She found him hidden under the fabric skirting.

“Here he is, he was hiding. Naughty, bunny.”

“Naughty.” Repeated Samantha

“Well you've got him now, Sam. it's time to go back to sleep.”

“Merm Sleeping?”

“Yes, she’s asleep. Shush now. You don't want to wake her.”

“Yeah. Sleeping.” Samantha lay back down, Peter rabbit clutched to her chest like a lifeline. Thumb securely in mouth

Shermy “Nuh-night, Sam.”

“Mm.” the girl’s eyes were already closed. Her breathing evening out into an even rate. How did kids get to sleep so quickly? Whatever it was Sherm wanted to bottle it.

She pulled Sam’s blanket back over her, and moved over to check on Miriam who thankfully was more disposed to sleeping through the night unlike her sister.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to the dark feathery hair on her daughter’s head.

“Night, Merm.” She whispered, and went back to bed exhausted.

 

* * *

 

She must have looked a state when she got to the office because Gina took one look at her and stopped what she was doing to fetch her a coffee from the break room.

“Here you go Sherm, black, two sugars.” She pushed the cup into her hand and sat her down at her desk.

“You're a star, Gina. I look that bad huh?”  She hadn't had time to do her makeup this morning, David had a breakfast meeting with a publisher, so she'd been in a rush to get Isaac off to school and the twins off to daycare by herself.

“You'll be fine, hon. you’re not on the clock till quarter to.” Replied Gina,

she was pulling out a large sheet of bubble wrap from a cupboard and passing it two of the other girls, Faye and Aisha who were currently in the process of wrapping up the editor’s desk and all its contents in bubble wrap.

“What are you two doing?”

“It’s April fool’s” said Aisha by way of explanation, flashing white teeth against dark skin.

Shermy glanced at the calendar.

April Fool’s Day. April 1st 1994.

Her brothers’ birthday. Ford turned 41 today.

It was a odd thought. She entertained the idea of calling him, as she made her way to the ladies’ room, but quickly chickened out.

They hadn't spoken since her wedding. She'd received a really sweet letter on the announcement of the twins birth, but that was over two years ago now.

Besides, she rationalised, he didn't really celebrate his birthday anyway, not anymore.

 _Stanley would have been 41 today too._ She paused, starting at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, eyeliner pencil halfway to her lid, blinking back tears she didn't expect to come.

She looked so much like her mother right then it was uncanny even down to the eyebags and the lilac shadow.

She wiped the tears away. _Drink some coffee, do your hair. You're just tired._ She told herself.

 _Yeah, and I want to die but it's whatever ,_ said that thought again. _Okay she thought, still ignoring you. I have work to do today._

She did her makeup, hiding her eye bags and dark circles with foundation and a white eyeliner she managed to make it look like she wasn't fundamentally tired on a molecular level.

She tamed her hair with a little hairspray and a hair band until she could pass herself off as a respectable business woman who didn't want to hypothetically jump under a bus.

She wasn't entirely sure how she got from putting on her makeup and facing the world to calling her husband to come get her because she was crying her mascara off in a synagogue but she got there in a matter of hours.

 “What happened, pine nut?” David had turned up in his blue striped suit his golden eyebrows turned downwards in concern.

He held on to both her shoulders and it felt like he was tethering her to the earth.

David was Gravity and she was a satellite. He pulled her near into his orbit, and she hung there close to him but not touching.

They stood on the street outside the Temple, it was an overcast April afternoon in San Francisco the air was still cool, and the insinuation of rain hung overhead.

Shermy leaned closer until her forehead touched David’s.

 “I don't know. Something's wrong with me and I don't know what.” She said.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, the same way she kissed the twins goodnight.

“Is it the date?” her husband was well versed in the complicated genetic pantomime that was the Pines Family.

He understood the weight her brothers’ relationship had on her growing up and knew that birthdays and Jahrzeits were still hard.

“I don't know, she said with a wretched sob. “I just want to sleep forever and not think about it at all.”

 David released her shoulders “Come on love, let's find somewhere to sit.”

They walked down Dolores St to the park there where they found a grassy spot on the hill that was relatively sheltered.

A handful of dog-walkers roamed the paths and there were several people still eating lunch speckled under the palm trees but in their spot they were more or less alone.

“Please tell me what's wrong, Shermaine.” She almost flinched, David hardly ever used her full name.

“I honestly don't know, I'm miserable for no reason. I don't know what's causing it's not just today either, it’s been weeks now.”

“You have been a little off colour lately, I thought it was just stress from finally getting a serious writing piece.” He stared at their entangled fingers, brushing the opal ring she wore on her right hand turning it so the gem faced outwards again. It had been a 21st present and a wedding present in one from her parents, an heirloom of her mother’s,  the stone that bore her name.

“So did I. Until the other day when I started seeing bridges as things to jump off.” She muttered bitter all of a sudden.

She didn’t ask for this, she had a house and a job and a beautiful family. She should have been happy with her lot.

_She wanted to die._

“Shit, Shermy. Honey, shouldn’t you see someone about that?”

“I’m not gonna go see a fuckin, shrink just because I’m a little _gloomy_. Honestly, David.”

“I think you should, I’m just saying, I don’t want you to end up like Shayna.”

Shermy’s gut turned to ice. David’s older sister had walked into the Napa River four years ago and never come out.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, she burst into tears pressing her face into his chest, her tears darkening his lapels.

He squeezed her hands in his. They were warm and safe. “I don’t say that to scare you, pine nut. I want you to take yourself seriously is all?”

“I’m sorry.” She said, muffled by fabric and skin. She didn’t know which bit she was sorry for.

“Don’t need to apologise for how you feel. You knew today was never gonna be easy, not for Stanford, nor for you."

“I was gonna call him this morning. Ford, I mean, but I couldn’t do it.” She said, pulling away from him and wiping her face.

She looking into her husband’s green, green eyes and all she saw was love and sympathy.

He quirked his lips in a lopsided smile.

“Don’t you know how that song goes? ‘You dunno what you go til it’s gone.’ It’s true, you know. You’ve got to close that gap somehow.”

“I’m always the one to do it, David. I decided a while back I don’t have the time to be playin’ chase around with my older brother. He’s a smart guy, either he makes the effort to be part of this family or not, I’m tired of the onus being on me.” Shermy sighed.

Her throat was raw and she felt like someone had filled her bones with lead.

David smiled weakly. “I understand, honey, I do.” He said.

“I’m gonna call Mom and Pop with I get home. Today is rough on them too.” She straightened up her back, starting to pull herself back together.

 _Get it together, Pines_. She told herself. _Go in there and get back in the ring._

“If you want I can call your work, tell ‘em you’ve gone home sick.” David offered, brushing the hair that had escaped the confines of her hair.

She shook her head, “I’ll be fine.” she didn’t want to go back to work, but she had to.

What she really wanted was to see the kids, she wanted to hear what Isaac at learned at school that day what games he’d played with his friends.

Right now she felt like she could watch the twins babble away to each other in their secret twin language for hours.

She wanted to be surrounded by those she loved and who loved her in return, she didn’t need to waste any more energy on those who didn’t.

She looked across the park most of the lunch-eaters had left by now, “What time do you need to get back to the office?” she asked her husband.

David glanced at his wristwatch and winced.

“Like five minutes ago.” He said with a laugh. “C’mon, pine nut. I’ll walk you to the corner at least.”

 

* * *

 

She got home from work about 4.30 after picking up the twins from day care, and Isaac from baseball practice.

It was 5pm by the time the twins had been fed and she’d put Isaac’s muddy gear in the wash.

She hadn’t even got as far as thinking about dinner, she noted and she searched in the phone book to see what time it was in New Jersey. 

7.30 in the evening. She might be able to get a hold of them.

She dialled the number, the same digits burned into her skull since elementary school.

“Pines the Psychic, I’ll see the unknown while you wait on the phone. What can I do for ya?”

 Her mother had many talents and having a voice like a blocked drain was one of them. It had only got worse with age, Shermy blamed the gin.

“Hey Ma? Have I caught you at work?” She asked.

 Opal Pines’ voice shifted up about three octaves, perking up audibly.

“Shermy! No, bubsy, I always got time for you! How’s things, darl? How are David and the lil munchkins? ”her mother asked.

 “They're good, well Sam’s a little ratbag she kept me up last night. I'm exhausted.” And as if on cue she stifled a yawn.

“That's parenthood for ya. I remember that well honey, especially with you, you’ve always been a cryer.”

“Gee, thanks Ma.” She said.Her mother laughed at that.

“Have you called your brother yet? It’s the first today, you know?” Shermy tried not to groan audibly, she’d known this was coming.

“Yeah I know. I’m gonna call him after.” That was a blatant lie and she was sure her mother knew it. “I just wanted to check up on how you and Pops are holdin’ up.”

There was a sigh on the line, she could hear a quiet tapping noise. Her mother’s long false nails on the table, no doubt.

A nervous habit both Shermy and Ford had inherited in adulthood.

“I dunno about your old man, Sherm. It’s a hard day for all of us but he’s hardly breathed a word all day. You know how he gets himself all into a tizzy about Stanley.” Opal said finally.

“Yeah, mom. I know.” It went unspoken but everyone knew Filbrick Pines blamed himself for his son’s death, and even though she’d never admit it out loud to anyone, Shermy blamed him too.

“FIL! COME UP HERE ‘N TALK TO YA DAUGHTER” her mother’s screeching nearly deafened her.

“Its okay, Ma. He doesn’t have to if he’s busy in the shop” she said.

Opal Pines chuckled. “Course he does honey, you’re the only kid we got still speaking to us.”

“Ford hasn’t rung?” She didn’t know what she’d expected but maybe a part of her had hope her brother treated their parents better than he had her.

“Not for a couple of months now, no. I’m sure he’s real busy but doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep in touch with his folks, right?”

Sherm thought of Stanford. Of his strange mystery house in the middle of Fuck-Knows-Where, Oregon.

The sleepy little logging town she’d stayed in for a couple of weeks when she first found out she was pregnant with Isaac.

Ford had been so kind to her then. The thought made her heart hurt.

“Hold on, bubsy.” Her mother was saying into the phone, “Your Pop’s here and he wants a word.”

“Shermaine.”

Filbrick Pines sounded the same as ever.

Invariable, impassive and hard, like he’d been carved from stone.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it going?”

Her father grunted down the line. “It’s going, kiddo. The slow cruel hand of time keeps moving.”

“How’s business?”

“It’s tricklin’. Slow but it’s steady. They said they were gonna build one of those big schlocky megastores nearby about six months back but luckily nothin’ came of it.  How’s California? You still goin to Temple, right?”

Shermy rolled her eyes, glad her father couldn’t see her. “Yeah, Dad, Every week.” She said.

Filbrick cleared his throat. “That’s good, you’re a good kid, Shermy. You’re alright.”

Shermy chuckled awkwardly. “Thanks, Pop.” Years ago that appraisal would have meant the world to her but now it passed over her head meaning nothing,

“Well, I need to go back downstairs now, you say hello to Chapman and the kids for me alright?”

“I will, promise.” Shermy glanced at the kitchen clock, David would be home soon, she noted.

“You should come up and visit soon, it’s not fair you keeping those little ones over the other side of the country. I wanna see my _eyniklekh_.”

Filbrick’s voice was generally unchanging but with years of experience Shermy was able to detect the hint of fondness that surfaced when he spoke of his grandchildren.

“One of these days, dad. We’ll make the trip over to Jersey” she said, wishing her parents would maybe just consider coming to her for a change.

Her father harrumphed into the phone, satisfied.

“Good, Glad to hear it. I’m passin’ you back to ya mother now.”

There was a murmur of conversation she couldn’t catch in the background and then her mother’s voice surfaced again.

They talked for another fifteen minutes, Opal filling in her daughter on the more recent Pines family gossip.

Hersch and his Mrs were squabbling again, another cousin was pregnant and it seemed her Aunt Selma had been diagnosed with some kind of cancer.

All of her mother’s animated chatter washed over her. It was comforting, it didn’t change.

 For now Shermy could just listen and believe her family was just like any other, she didn’t have to do anything.

The twins were playing together in the living room, Isaac was watching Bill Nye on the television.

Everything felt normal and she didn’t have to think. Just for this few minutes she could listen to her Ma and  pretend everything was okay.


	6. Age 16 pt 2: The Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set the day after chapter 3,  
> 16 yo Shermy wakes in her brother's house on the morning of her first full day in Gravity Falls, Oregon. Independent, pregnant, and only a little bit afraid. 
> 
> tw: mention of vomiting, morning sickness etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly getting back into writing this, I took a break fro mental health reasons. That said I now have the skeleton of this fic worked out and with the companion piece that focuses on Ford and Fidds going on too i'm hoping everyone can have a good amount of limelight. Also on the weekend I finished a one-shot that turned into a 16k word fic with oodles of character development, so check that out if you want cute trans dipper and Mabel bonding and Stanford getting put in his fucking place for once. Otherwise enjoy a chapter that isn't filled with pain and instead is fueled by my constant impulsive desire to chop my hair off with kitchen scissors.
> 
> (Take a wild guess at Rosie Appleseed's role in canon, Pines kids seem to fall for redheads, and her old man runs a logging camp.)
> 
> ( **A/N** The soundtrack to this chapter could literally be the mountain goats entire 20 year discography but i'll whittle it down to [Luna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSeLIAkUZCo) and [Until I am Whole Again by The Mountain Goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyIIf-EOVMQ) plus [My Father's Father by the Civil Wars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGwnFz_5xRE))

For the first time in a while Shermy didn't wake up in a cold sweat in pure panic. For the first time in forever she woke up in a strange bed and didn't freak out. She felt safe. Uncertain and a little nauseous but she was okay and she was safe here. Safe at Stanford’s.

She was doing okay until she sat up, cross-legged in bed. Her stomach did a triple somersault, the blood running through her veins was suddenly a loud rushing noise in her ears like a jet engine.

 _Here it comes,_ she thought, _here comes the divine fucking retribution._ She thundered out into the landing and rushed into the second floor bathroom, just making in time to skid forward on her knees in front of the toilet bowl, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Shermy, you dying in there?” Ford’s concerned voice came from the hallway, moving towards the sound of her vomiting.

“No, ‘Ford everything is fuckin' peachy keen,” she retched again, her throat burning with bile. “Absolutely swell in here, the tops.”

Her brother’s snickering could be heard from through the wooden paneled door.

“Are you laughing at me? Just you wait til I regain the ability to stand, Stanford Pines, I’ll kick your ass!”

“I’m not laughin’ at ya, Mama Bear.” said Ford through the door, clearly still laughing

“I’ll break your fuckin schnoz.” She muttered, smiling despite her swimming vision and queasy stomach. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, and waited a bit to be sure there wouldn’t be any encore performances. Then she flushed the toilet and slowly like a baby giraffe she pulled herself stumbling up to stand, leaning on the counter, the wall, the side of the bath for support, until she got to the door to unlock it.

Ford opened the door, “Sher, I’m coming in.” She swayed out of the way of the swinging door and fell forward into her brother’s chest.

“Hi.” she muttered, clinging to her brother’s forearms like a crutch. He’d gotten a lot less scrawny in the five years since they’d last seen each other. Stanford had always been a bit of a skinny chickenshit. Now he had muscles.

“Hiya, kid. You alright?” he looked at her, concern etched on to his features.

“I’m hungry.” She said, her eyes unfocused, her body swaying slightly.

Ford looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.

 “Ew forreal?” he laughed “I like your priorities.”

‘“Can we get pancakes? ‘Cause I want pancakes.” She said, with a yawn. Part of her wanted to go back to bed and hide forever but pancakes seemed like a more realistic option.

“You need a shower.” He pointed at the singlet she’d slept in “You puked on your shirt, oh my god this is like being at home all over again.” He snorted “I’m stuck babysittin’, Ickle baby Sherm.”

Shermy scrunched up her face. “You’re an ass an' I hate you.” She loosened her grip on his arm, still feeling light-headed.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t puke on me, little Shermy-worm.”

“Fight me, Stanford.” She spat back, tired but grinning. This felt less forced then yesterday. Like normal siblinghood could resume for now.

“Sure, like I’m going to get in a fist fight with my pregnant sister.”

“Don’t call me that” she barked.

Ford mimed a face of mock hurt. “What? My sister? You _are_ my sister.”

Shermy rolled her eyes. “No dummy, the other thing.”

“Pre- Oh. What'd you rather I say? Knocked up? Up the duff? Got a bun in the oven? Expecting?” her brother's eyes twinkled.

 Oh, she could just hit that smug grinning face.

“Imma take that shower now.” She said, face reddening and urge to punch rising dramatically.

 She didn't remember Ford being this much of a dick when she was little, he was much more about tweed and quiet reading back then. Now he was a lot more like their dad.

 If she was completely honest she liked the way was now better, the flaky mild-mannered academic persona would have left her an uncomfortable sobbing wreck as soon as she got there.

 At least now she could have this great pretense of normality, something she needed desperately.

Stanford grinned. I'll go get you a towel.” He moved back down the hall and paused.

 “–Oh and Shermy?” he said.

“Yo?” she turned back around to look him.

“Don't worry about it. I'm not gonna tell anyone.”

His sister didn't even try to contain her sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ford.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Don't mention it, squirt. You're family.” 

 

* * *

 

Shermy climbed out of the shower feeling born again. She wrapped the towel her brother had given her, around her middle, letting her hand rest on the skin below her stomach for a moment. The skin was sensitive and starting to swell but she didn't feel anything moving, no fluttering heartbeat or whatever it was she was expecting there to be. Sherm dropped her hand, she didn't know how she was supposed to feel. She moved to the counter wiping at the fogged up mirror and stealing Ford’s comb to part her wet hair.

Her reflection looked so young. Long brown hair, soft freckled cheeks and her mother's nose, it didn't match what she felt like in her head at all. She needed to make a change, she felt it in a huge rush of endorphins like liquid lightning pulsing through her veins and throat.

She had seen scissors in her room hadn't she? There were boxes of notes and stationary stuff probably from her brother's journal making, did he still do that to keep notes in?

Her cousin Karen usually cut her hair, in fact she had cut her hair for as long as Shermy could remember, Karen had done a course in cosmetology once, and the Pines didn't have the funds for some fancy salon job. Shermy had more or less worn her hair the same way since infancy, which had caught her some flack in high school. Hand me down clothes from her brothers or her girl cousins, the same generic long hairstyle through the dramatic trends of the early 80s it made her an easy target for some of the other girls. Luckily she had punching on her side. But it didn't fix her appearance, if anything fights just added more bumps and scars.

She picked up her pajamas and crossed the landing back into her room, fetched a change of clothes and her hairbrush, she rummaged around in one of the crates that had been tucked in the corner until she found a pair of scissors. Pulling on underwear, yesterday’s bra and a clean long-sleeved t-shirt she wandered back to the bathroom, in front of mirror.

There was some ancient factoid from a magazine article buzzing around in her head, or maybe something she'd over heard from other girls at school, whatever it was from she remembered hearing that tying your hair up in a ponytail before you cut it would layer your hair nicely.  

This was true in theory, but Shermy Pines, was a writer, not an artist. She was as delicate as bricks and she had a stunning absence of anything remotely resembling impulse control. She was also using craft scissors. Despite having all of these factors to take in account, she hacked off her ponytail with little respect to length or straightness of cut and was left standing, half-dressed in her brother’s bathroom, holding 60% of her hair in her hand.

“Shit.” She said. There was little else to say about it.

“Ok, Sherm.” She told herself “You better own this decision. You made the cut and your brother is gonna roast you alive if you admit you fucked up.” She nodded at her own reflection and dumped her hair in the wastepaper basket. Covering her face with her eyes she turned back and peeked through her fingers at the damage.

Her hair was short, like really short and kind of slanted and uneven. Where her hair had originally come halfway now her back her hair now mostly stopped at her jawline, fluffy brown and messily cut.

Her Ma was gonna kill her, and she loved it. She snipped at the strands that were obviously too long and resolved to leave the rest alone.

Disposing of the evidence in the wastepaper basket in the bathroom she moved back into her attic bedroom, she pulled on some leggings and a clean sweater, this one red with a pattern of white and gold leaves, and she checked her reflection, smoothing down the fabric over her stomach her estimate put her at about 10 weeks along. She didn’t look any different for saying she was two and a half weeks pregnant. It was almost like she could pretend this wasn’t really happening, _almost_.

“Ford?” she called out thundering down the stars in her bare feet. “Are ya gonna make good on that pancake promise or not?”

Her brother’s laughter came from the other room. “I’m in the living room, twerp”

She followed his voice to find him reading the newspaper in an armchair. He looked up at her and startled instantly.

 _Ok_ , she thought, _maybe a bit not good?_

“Shermy, your hair-“He said raising his eyebrows and struggling to keep a straight face.

 _Definitely a bit not good_ , she thought cold dread washing over her, _god I must have made an absolute mess of myself. He’s gonna laugh at me. I can’t got back to school like this._

She remembered her decision to own it, this morning and turned on the defensive.

“What about it? It’s my hair.” She asked, voice closer to a growl than speech.

Stanford shrugged, he didn’t seem as upset as she’d originally thought. His voice was neutral.

“Sure, and it suits you. Just let me even out the back for ya.” he said. “No sister of mine is having a mullet under my roof.”

She ran her fingers through her newly-short hair, tentatively. “Okay but why should I trust _you_ with a pair of scissors?” She asked.

Ford smirked, there was that shit-eating grin that reminded her of her Pop in salesman mode.

“I’ll do a better job than you.” he said, blasé as ever.

Shermy blew him a raspberry “ _Rude_ , Stanford.” But he probably had a point.

“Well it’s true, ‘sides I’ve been cutting my own hair for years now.”

“Fine, I left the scissors upstairs in the bathroom.”

“Go grab a seat, in the kitchen, kiddo. There’s better light in there at this hour.”

“What about breakfast?” as if to illustrate her point her stomach gurgled.

Stanford waved a hand as he headed towards the doorway.

“Yeah yeah, we’ll head to the diner in a bit, just let me deal with one thing at a time, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

Shermy sat in one of her brother’s wooden dining chairs, her back towards the window, which haloed her in the cool October morning sunlight. Also behind her was the ominous soundtrack of scissors snipping as her brother trimmed her hair.

“Who normally does your hair, anyway or are our folks finally shilling out for something for once in their lives?”  
“No way!” said Shermy, trying to keep her head steady “Sometimes I think dad wouldn’t pay for an ambulance if he were dying.”

Ford laughed at that but it wasn’t a good laugh. It was cold and unhappy.

Sherm bit the soft inside of her lip. Maybe their father was a point of contention here.

“Do you remember a Cousin Karen? Rebekah’s youngest, she’s a couple of years younger than you.”

“Yeah vaguely, like as a toddler in diapers.”

“She’s twenty eight, Stanford.”

“Those must be pretty big diapers.”

Shermy risked turning around to give him an annoyed look. Ford snipped the hairdressing scissors menacingly in the air

“Sit still, squirt or I’ll get your neck on accident.” Shermy rolled her eyes but she turned back around.

“Fine, anyway Karen’s the one who usually does my hair. She lives close to us and she used to work as a hair dresser.”

“Oooh, get you youngest siblings and your fancy hairdressing cousins. When we were little Dad cut our hair for us and if you think he’s normally scary you’ve never seen the man with a pair of clippers, once he got m-Stanley’s ear accidentally and he had to wear a bandage for a bit. We told the other kids at school he’d been in a knife fight.” He let out a bark of laughter, rich and warm that made the hair of the back of Shermy’s neck stand on end, her chest felt cold.

That laugh was so familiar, it was drumming up something buried deep and ancient in her brain. That laugh was like the whisper of a ghost. It was the strangest sensation. “I bet that made you popular in Glass Shard.” She said with a smile trying to place the unsettled feeling she felt on hearing her brother laugh. Like something misremembered from a dream and she didn’t all the other puzzles pieces to put together what was wrong.

“All done!” said Stanford after several minutes, putting the scissors down. She stood up brushing the left over hair off her shoulders. She checked her reflection in the mirror behind her. The short length of her hair mad her hair curl and fluff up a lot more than it did when it was long and the way  Ford had cut it short at the back and longer around her door reminded her of an old photo of Clara Bow, an 1930s actress who her mother adored. It was retro, she thought, but it suited her better than what she’d had before.

“Thanks, bro. It looks really good!?”She said slinging her arms around her objecting brother’s neck.

“You say that like you’re surprised. I mean didn’t I already say I was amazing.”

She punched him in the arm, smiling. “You’re a jack of all trades, Fordy.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause I’m buyin’ you breakfast.”

“Damn straight, I am.” She said pulling her sweater back over her newly short hair. “C’mon I’m starving.”

“Kids.” Said Ford with an exaggerated shake of his head, but he held the front door open for her first before he followed her outside to the car.

 

* * *

 

Rosie Appleseed was a beautiful human being. A High school junior and part-time waitress at Greasy’s Diner. She had bright coppery curls cut short in a bob. Her face was a map of freckled constellations she had a gap in between her two front teeth. It was adorable, she was a breath-taking sight to behold.

She’d greeted Stan with a friendly warmth and even shaken Shermy’s hand when she came over to give them their menus. Stanford seemed to be known in this diner, the owner Susan waved to him from behind the counter as they took their seats.

Shermy Pines was enamoured. Her pancakes sat in front of her soaking up syrup and she sat there transfixed by the waitress, her mouth agape.

Stanford Pines had had enough. He stopped with a forkful of pie poised in mid-air and waved his free hand in front of his sister’s eyes.

“Shermy seriously, put away the heart-eyes, honey. You're in enough of a situation as is.

“Shuddup, I wasn’t staring, just like the way she wears her hair is all.

“Shermaine Bathsheba Pines, you are glowing gayer than a full ensemble Broadway musical number.

“Am not.” She said, ducking her head with twin crimson cheeks. Her attention back on her food.

Stanford grinned, “ _Are too_ , they could use your face as a stoplight.”

“I hate you.” She said, trying not to laugh, returning to her task of stuffing pancakes in her mouth, like a squirrel hoarding acorns.

Ford snorted, throwing back another cup of coffee.

“Nah, you don't. it‘s impossible to hate me. I'm _adorable_.”

His sister rolled her brown doe eyes at him. “You're gross.” she said, smile audible in her voice.

Stanford shrugged, “You love it”

Shermy with all her maturity and near adult poise and wisdom made a squelching fart noise with her mouth.

In return, her Latin-speaking, physics-loving nerd brother pulled his nostrils up into a pig nose and crossed his eyes at her. It was gloriously childish display.

“Everything okay here, Stan?” asked Rosie, coming over with water to refill their glasses.

“Just swell, thank you sweetheart.” He said with a friendly smile, Rosie nodded to Shermy as well before she moved to the booth behind them to take the orders of the couple behind them.

Shermaine raised her eyebrows. “They call you Stan here. Leila, the officer from yesterday, she called you Stan too”

Her brother shrugged, staring down at his plate. “Yeah, what of it?”

Shermy pulled her lips down into a quiet frown. He was being purposely dense again. It might have worked on his customers but Shermy knew her brother and he was a certified genius, if a stubborn one at that.

“Stanford…”she started, voice gentle. She quickly trailed off, the words ‘If you ever want to talk about him’ hung unsaid in the air.

No one ever wanted to talk about Stanley but her. She was desperate to talk about him, about how she grew up not worried about the monsters who lived under her bed or in her closet but the ones who lived in the old boxes on her bedroom desk, the things that left tear tracks on her mother's face when she was sleeping. Stanley was a folktale to her, a Bloody Mary figure whose name alone could disintegrate the two most important adults in her life who were supposed to be invincible.

Shermy wanted to talk about how one of her earliest memories was of when she was three and her father found out her mother had been meeting Stanley in secret, to give him food and money. How quiet and tense the house had been and how little toddler Shermy had screamed and kicked and cried just to keep her parents moving, just to stop them from fighting.

She thought once more of her parents right now, back at home in Glass Shard, and with tears pricking her eyes she wondered if she could ever go back.

Her brother groaned aloud, rubbing his nose where the horned glasses pinched skin.

“Don't you dare, don't you dare cry on me again. It’s too early for the waterworks. Eat your pancakes, kid. I don't care what you call me.”

Shermy stared down at her plate making patterns in the syrup with her knife.

“Sorry.” she whispered, blinking back tears.

Ford grunted. “It’s fine, don't worry. There's nothing to apologise for.”

“Hey Ford?

He sighed. “What is it now?”

“You know how you said yesterday, that I could stay here?

“Mm?” his eyes moved around the diner, observing the other patrons

“What about if Ma and Pa kick me out?”

Her brother looked at her, face serious.

“Then you'll be staying here longer, and you can help me out in the shack.”

“What about, you know?” She gestured down at herself in a vague sweeping movement.

Ford scratched his nose “I know lots of things, be specific.” He said.

Shermy looked around once, twice, three times to check no one was eavesdropping. Especially making sure the cute waitress was well out of earshot.

“The baby.” She hissed.

Ford shrugged, not understanding. “What about ‘em?”

“I-I can't ask you to put up with both of us.”

Stanford rolled his eyes, in the most frustratingly patronising Ford-ish gesture ever.

“Shermaine you are my sister, nothing ever is going to stop you from being my sister. Your kid is gonna be my family too, _versteh_? We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, right now I just want you safe and comfortable.I told ya yesterday, you'll always have a home with me and I meant every word.”

She squeezed her hands into white-knuckled fists around her cutlery.

“I don't even know if I'm gonna keep it. I mean I can't even look after myself like 90% of the time, how am I gonna look after a tiny human? _I could crush it_ , Ford!” she said.

Her brother shrugged all non-committal, for a second he was a weird caricature of their mother. “It's up to you to decide, kiddo. I'm just here for support, but no one is expecting you to raise a kid alone, you'll have me here and hopefully Ma and Pop will help you out too.”

“Thanks.” She couldn’t say anything more, than ‘thank you,’ no matter how much she wanted to.

Ford smiled, sipping his coffee. “I'll talk to Ma when she calls, Shermy. There's no way she's gonna let another kid slip through her hands.”

“She once told Pop that if he even _thought_ about cutting me or you off,   she'd pack her things and leave with me and all the money.”

“Good on her.” Stanford sighed “Pop’s a piece of crap.  I dunno if I could stand to be in the same room as him these days.”

Shermy reached across the table and grabbed his hand. She wanted to tell her brother that she loved him a lot and that what happened to Stanley did not reflect back on him as a person. But that wasn't the Pines family way. She squeezed his hand tightly, and sipped at her milkshake.

Stanford squeezed it back hurriedly, trying not to acknowledge he had emotions in public.

“Come on, kid. Let's not focus on this depressing shit. I'm due to head back to work soon anyway. So finish up your grub.”

“Okay but I'm going to say hi to our waitress first.”

“Oh my god, Sherm no. you're gonna be the death of me I swear.”

She stuck her tongue out “Sherm _yes_. I'm gonna do it more now, maybe I'll get her number”

“Smart ass.”

 

* * *

 

Shermy knocked on her brother’s open bedroom door. He was inside changing his shirt to something that fit his ‘mystery man’ persona for work.

Ford glanced over his shoulder at her as she lent in the doorway arms crossed against her chesy.

“Did you get lil Rosie’s number in the end, kiddo?” he asked.

“Yeah but just to know someone local around my age I can hang out with.” She said, shrugging.

Stanford scoffed. “Hang out, huh? Is that what kids are calling it these days?”

“No, you jerk, as friends.” She moved closer to him, standing by the mirror and sticking out her tongue, turning pink in the face. “Besides I doubt it’d work out, she's straight and I'm pregnant.”

“A tragedy for the ages, I'm sure.” Her brother muttered as he straightened his ridiculous fez. “It’s probably just as well, kid. I mean, her old man runs a lumber mill just outside of town. He can fell a 30 ft. redwood with his eyes closed, a scrawny 5ft Pine Tree would be child’s play for him.”

She punched him in the arm “Don’t call me that. You’re a Pine tree too, asslord.” As an afterthought she reached up and flicked his fez off his head.

“Hey, watch it!” he whined.

Shermy picked the hat off the floor and held it out to him.

“You look like a performing monkey, why do you even wear that thing?”

“It adds mystery.” He said, snatching it from her.

“Lemme guess, that’s why there’s question marks on everything too?”

“Duh, this is the Mystery Shack.”

Shermy rolled her eyes, incredulous “Did you come up with that name all on your lonesome, smart guy?”

Her brother shrugged. “For the first year or so it was the Murder Hut.”

“Oh my…Stanford _what the fuck_?”

“Yep, it didn’t exactly sell very well, that’s why we changed.” Her brother re-knotted his garish red and yellow question mark novelty tie.

“I was wondering, do you need me to help at all? ‘snot fair if I’m staying here and I’m not helping.”

“Not with the tour, but if you can help Daryl stocking up the gift shop, that'd be swell.”

“Can I punch him if he tries to hit on me?” she asked

“You can fire his greasy ass, no one messes with my baby sister.”

“Thanks Ford, but I’m almost seventeen.” Shermy said crossing her arms across her chest.

Ford shrugged. “Well then, you’re a _big_ baby then.”

“A big baby with a baby?” she snorted, her brother cracked a grin.

Her brother held up his hands in self-defense. “Woah now, you said it, not me!”

“Yeah well, anyway. I’ll be heading down to the gift shop if you need me for anything.”

“Thanks, Shermy.”

She turned around to look at him and shook her head, smiling fondly,

“No, Stanford. Thank you, seriously. For everything. You’re the best family I’ve ever had.”


	7. Age 33: The New Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shermy Pines awaits the arrival for her first grandchildren with her brother for company. 
> 
> tw for misgendering, kinda? Dipper is referred to with she pronouns for the whole of this chapter just as an fyi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I read the new GF game spoilers on tumblr where Stanley talks about Canon Shermie (note the ie, i'm gonna use that to make a distinction) and how Stan was there for the twins birth (it's adorable I gotta say) So when bringing it over into my AU I had to take several things into account: 1)Dipper's transliness (that's a word now, ain't language fun), 2) why would Stanley be at the birth when his relationship with his sister is still on the mend?, 3)How are Stanley and Shermy affected by the twin's birth? 4) why can't I name Mrs Pines entire family after Twin Peaks characters? you can't stop me. 
> 
> To be completely honest I could have written this whole chapter in Stan's POV but that would make it an Interlude not a chapter and it's called 'The Life and Times of Shermaine Pines', for a reason. Also a quick note about pronouns: Dipper here is a literal baby, he is less than an hour old consequently both POVs will only think of him using she pronouns/ feminine titles, the same way Stanley is referred to as Stanford in Shermy's POV. It's not a matter of me misgendering Dip it's more of a 'they don't know he's a boy yet' thing. Dipper remains a boy even when others are unaware of his gender.
> 
> (A/N The soundtrack for this chapter is 3 tracks: [Genesis 30:3 by the Mountain Goats, ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NM0bK__Xzbs) [Pleiades by Beta Radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1f-ieI1Ols) and [Passenger Seat by Death Cab for Cutie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKmGJParYno) )

(Stanley)

“I am far too young to be a grandmother.” said Shermaine, her head resting on her big brother's shoulder.

It was nearly ten at night on August the 31st the last official day of Summer, though the Californian air had still been warm and sticky when they arrived several hours ago.

Stan had only flown in from Oregon that morning. Shermy's husband: David Chapman-Pines was stuck in London on business and Shermy needed her brother to be her moral support, another adult to have there for the birth of her first grandchildren.

Isaac Pines stopped mid-pace tufts of brown hair splaying out everywhere, fear and apprehension staining his freckled face.

“ _You're_ too young!? Mother, I am barely _seventeen_.”

“Yes and whose fuckin’ fault is that, Isaac?” asked Shermy, her tone brooked no nonsense.

Stanley chuckled into his polystyrene coffee cup. The coffee itself was lukewarm but he chucked it back anyway.

 “Seventeen’s rather dignified compared to Shermy.” He said, his sister slapped him on the arm.

 “Shush, you.” She hissed.

“Mr Pines?” A youngish nurse stuck her head around the door. “She wants you, it won’t be long now.” She said with a soft smile at Shermy and Stanley.

 Isaac straightened himself up and nodded at his mother and uncle, he pushed his glasses up his nose, his face pale.

He disappeared into the room, but not before a loud cry of pain escaped from the room. Stan flinched, his sister however didn't seem that bothered by it.

“Do they know what they're havin’?” he asked, trying to make conversation, not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts for long.

She frowned. “Twins, Stanford. I told you that already.”

“No. I mean gender-wise, not that it matters, ‘course. I was just thinkin’ if we get a girl and a boy then we’ve collected the set.”

Shermy chuckled, the noise buzzed thorugh his shoulder. Her voice was tired. Her eyes stayed closed to block out the harsh white hospital lights.

"They're identical twins, though. They’ll be identical."

“No one is truly identical, Shermy-Sherm.” he said, keeping his tone light.

She squeezed at his arm. “Yeah, I guess you’d know.”

“Y’know what they say, third time’s the charm, eh?” he joked.

Shermy’s lips quirked at the corners, she adjusted her head so Stan’s shoulder wasn’t digging into her.“Yeah, and good things come in threes.”

Her brother paused, thinking. "Wouldn't that be triplets though?"

Shermy shurgged. "Three sets of twins in a family works too right?"

"I sure hope so, honey." Stanley shook his head. "I sure hope so."

 

* * *

 

It wasn't long, the nurse had been right about that. Within fifteen minutes of closing, the door to Laura’s hospital room swung open, revealing his nephew.

 “We have a girl!” he cried, eyes huge and sparkling. “Well, technically we have two girls, or we will do.”

Isaac was smiling out his ears, though he still looked kind of shell-shocked.

 “Baby number one is okay, they’ve just taken her out to be weighed, we're waiting on baby number two to make her appearance."

“Mazel Tov!”  Stanley leapt up clapping his nephew on the shoulder.

His sister burst into predictable tears and embraced her son first, then her brother, wiping her eyes on the shoulder of Stan's shirt.

“Congrats Grandma Sherm.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her head.

Mrs Hirsch, Laura’s mother, brought the bundle out of the birthing room “Come and meet the rest of the family, sweetheart.” She said.

Shermy took the baby first, still sniffling, happy tears dribbling down her cheeks. Stan got out a handkerchief from his pants’ pocket and wiped his sister’s face for her.

"Crybaby." he whispered.

His sister chuckled, stoking the child's soft downy hair. "Oh shush, I mean just _look_ at her." 

“Do you wanna hold her for a bit, Great Uncle Stanford?”  Asked Shermy putting the soft pink bundle into his arms, it felt like playing pass the brand new sentient parcel. “I'm gonna try get David on the phone, and I better call the twins too.  She said pulling her mobile out of her pocket.

“Watch out for her hands, Uncle Stan.” Said Isaac moving out from the doorway staring at his newborn daughter with a dazed reverence.  “She's already punched a doctor.”

“That's my girl!” Stan laughed, chest swelling with pride and…some other less happy emotions he didn't want to look at just yet. “Punched a Doctor! What a star!”

“Just make sure you support her head properly.” Chided his sister, reaching over and guiding his hand down a bit. “There we go.” She put her phone back to her ear.

“Does she have a name yet?” Stan asked Isaac who was staring at his baby girl like there was nobody else in the world but them. Isaac glanced up at his voice.

“Well we haven't decided which is which yet, but we were thinking of calling her Mabel.”

Stanley looked at the bundle in his arms who pursed her lips and stared right back, not quite used to blinking yet.

She was beautiful, Stanley could make out her grandmother's dark eyes, her father's face shape, her mother's nose ( _Phew,_  he noted, _lucky kid_ ).

“Mabel? Yeah that suits her.” Stan said after a while, nodding approvingly.

A tiny baby fist shot up and waved about a bit.

“Hey there slugger,” Stan whispered. “That's called punching and you’ve got it down pat.”

His nephew chuckled. “She's a Pines, Stan, It's in her genes.”

“Is the other one alright?” Stan asked, staring into his great niece’s liquid brown eyes, already rapt.

In the corner of his vision he saw Isaac nod.

“They were worried because she had her cord wrapped around her neck, but she's breathing on her own now. Laura’s got her. They'll bring her out in a bit once she's had a feed and they've weighed her and everything.” He said, running a hand backwards through his brown curls.

Baby Mabel stuck a tiny hand out and latched on to Stan’s nose like a vice, prompting a yelp from her great uncle.

“Ow! Ow, kid again with the nose. Y’know your old man did the same to me when he was born.” He said removing the tiny death grip from his face.

“Babies go for the biggest point of reference.” Snarked Shermy with smiles spilling out her thin lips, the phone cradled between her neck and shoulder.

Stanley rolled his eyes good-naturedly in his sister’s direction. He didn't tell her but in that moment she look exactly like their mother.

 An old flare of grief licked at him as he stared into the tiny doe eyes before him. His Ma would have torn the moon down from the sky for these girls, Opal Pines had been nigh inconsolable when Sam and Merm were born.

The thought burned the back of his throat, he swallowed the bile.

 _Please,_ he thought as loud as he could, _P_ _lease, if there really is any higher power, don’t let history repeat itself. Not for Samantha and Miriam, and especially not for these two, they're blank slates, they're blameless._ He took a deep inhale of breath to calm the tendrils of fear that curled up inside him.

_My mistakes are not theirs to bear. _  
__

The door opened again.

 “Hey there, you're the dad right? Here's twin number two” said the nurse, bringing out another pink-blanketed bundle and setting it in Isaac’s arms.  “Check out that birthmark, it's an unusual one. Almost looks like a spoon, don't you think?”

“Wow.” Said Isaac, taking his daughter in his arms. “It totally does.”

“That's not just a spoon!” gasped Shermy. “That's Ursa Major! Darling, she's got a constellation on her head!”

Stan laughed at that, peering over at the newcomer. Held still held little Mabel close to his chest.

“Would you look at that!” he cried, there on the other twin’s forehead was a darker red pattern of skin. True enough, even Stan could see the pattern of Ursa Major in the mark.

Shermy looked over at her son, smiling. “You got yourself a little Big Dipper, _bubbele_.”

“Not many kids come out of the womb with a nickname.” Said Isaac nuzzling his daughter into his shoulder.

Stanley squeezed tight his regular five-fingered hand. It was August, so he hadn't thought to wear the gloves, luckily everyone was too busy and excited for the birth to notice a missing finger.

He said nothing, focusing all his attention on little Mabel in his arms, who for his troubles, socked him promptly in the cheek. It didn't hurt but it was surprisingly tough.

“Oof! What a right hook! Just like her grandma.” He said, laughing. He passed the baby over to Laura’s father who’d just arrived and was hurriedly shaking everyone's hand.

Shermy was busy rapid-fire briefing her husband on the phone. But Isaac laughed at his joke, no doubt remembering the incident all those years ago. It had reached that point where they could laugh about it now, he noted. That was good, he could manage that.

“Would you like a turn holding little Dipper, here Uncle Stan?” he asked, looking rather exhausted and overwhelmed. “Dad wants a word with us and I want to check how Laura's doing.” Stan nodded holding out his arms to take his other great niece.

“Hey there, little Dipper, I’m your Great Uncle Stanford.” That was a mouthful for a kid to learn, he needed to shorten that somehow. Dipper blinked at him, as if her this new roller-coaster of sights and sounds was a puzzle for her fifteen minute old self to solve.

“I get it. She's the puncher, you’re the thinker, eh?” He said, peering at the placid brown eyed little face, the baby stared back unbothered by all the changing faces and sights. “Fair enough. This family needs all the brains it can get.”

 Stanley tried to ignore the way all the lights in the room start to sheen and bloom with halos. Dipper made a pursed lipped face like she was surprised. Stanley blinked rapidly to dispel the tears before any of his family saw. He cleared his throat too, trying to rid himself of the lump he felt growing there.

He said nothing for a while, just staring at the little bundle in his arms. Finally he spoke to her again.

“That's amazing, that birthmark you got. Means you're an original piece of art.” He pressed his lips to the baby’s starry forehead. “Don't you ever let anyone tell you different, kiddo.”

“She's not getting a space name, Dad. Isaac was saying into Shermy’s phone. “I promise, though Mom’s already given her Dipper as a nickname.”

Stan grinned. “I think you'd should just name her that, Iz. If the shoe fits.”

Shermy reached over to take her granddaughter from her brother’s arms.

“They've already chosen her name, Ford. Haven't they sweetheart?” she made a series of inane cooing noises.

“You sound just like Mom.” Her brother groaned.

She smiled somewhat smugly. “I'm a grandmother now, asslord, I'll fuss all I want.”

“Ooh Grandma Sherm.” He wasn’t going to let her live this down, it was practically his duty as her brother to give her shit about being all clucky, even though both twins already had their great uncle wrapped around their little fingers. 

“I'm _Nonna_ Shermy, actually. David’s Zaidie. Audrey and Dale are Grandma and Gramps.”

“Not Bubbeh?” he said referring to what they called their father’s mother. The Yiddish for grandmother.

“Our _bubbeh_ smelt like vodka and damp, Stanford. My strongest memory of her was her threatening to hex me when I was like five. Forgive me, if that's not an aesthetic I'm keen to follow.”

Stanley nodded in understanding, their _bubbeh_ had been a mildly terrifying little Polish woman who slept with a revolver by her bed. She was impressive in the same way tornadoes were impressive but her title hardly brought to mind the kind of motherly tenderness Sherm was going for.

“Nonna's a lot cooler than that, ain't she Dipper?” She cooed to the baby.

Dipper belched, spittle bubbling on her lips. Shermy wiped it off gently with the back of her hand.

Stan snorted. “I agree, kid.”

 Shermy gave him a pointed look. He shut up.

She stroked her grandchild’s chubby cheek with a thumbprint.

“My little girl, my bubbele, my little fleck of stardust.” A thought crossed her face, Stan saw his sister light up all of a sudden and she turned to her son smiling.  “Hey Isaac, if she's marked with the Big Dipper than Mabel should be 'Polaris'. The brightest northern star, they point to each other.”’

Stanley didn’t bother hiding his laugh at that, his little sister and her space stuff, she'd never gotten over that obsession.  Ford was responsible for that, no doubt.

He pushed that thought back down down down, this was a happy occasion he wasn't going to let that old nerd drag him down. Not today.

Instead he tried to follow what his nephew was saying.

“Mom, don't assign weird space names to my kids. They're not even an hour old.”

 

* * *

_(Shermy)_

 

They left the hospital at about half past eleven Shermy was almost asleep on her feet, Isaac was staying overnight, the Hirsches had already gone home once their daughter and granddaughter were soundly asleep.

She felt almost high. She kept muttering “I’m a grandmother.” Over and over again as if by desensitizing herself to the words it would somehow make them more real. Stanford thought this was funny at least, he kept looking over at her as they walked to the car, a fond smile on his lips.

“I know, Shermy.” he would say, “I was, in fact, right there with you.”

When she took two minutes to fish her keys out of her purse, he looked at her, his face deadpan, and took the keys from her hand.

“I’ll drive.” He said. “You look like you just ran a marathon, Nonna.” And she knew she was tired because she moved over to the passenger side, and didn’t even argue with him.

“I haven’t been sleeping.” She said, stifling a yawn. “What with David away, and constantly waiting to get the call to come here, I’ve been stretching myself thin.”

“You can sleep on the way, if you want.” Ford said putting her car into gear. “Though, I might need directions.”

Shermy nodded staring out the passenger seat window at the city lights. 

“Are you okay, Stanford?” she asked, not looking at him.

“I’m better than okay, kid. Those lil squirts punched me right in the heart.”

“That’s what I meant, it wasn’t too painful, I hope.”

“You mean because they’re twins? Nah. It’s alright.  Twins are just twins, I don’t have any issue with Sammy and Merm, do I?”

“No, I s’pose not. She said, thinking.  “Take the next exit after this.”

 Her brother followed her instructions. “A whole new branch on the Pines family tree, huh?” he said.

“Yeah, it’s so surreal. My Izzy, my little boy is a dad now. It’s so…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

Words alone couldn’t convey how she felt about this whole thing it was too huge for words.

Her brother glanced across at her briefly before changing lanes. “Did you tell Pop?”

Shermy stopped. She knew there was someone she'd left out.

“Shit, no I didn’t think to. I’ll call him tomorrow. I might even go in to see him”

“I could come with ya- if you want that is” He shrugged, eyes on the road ahead. His face was bathed in streetlight but she couldn’t read his expression.

She paused, momentarily unsure of what to say.

“Ford, I would _never ever_ ask that of you, ya hear?”

“I know, I know. It’s why I’m offering.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying I’m going backflip into the guy’s arms or anythin’ just thought I’d make an appearance is all. I haven’t seen him since Ma died I thought maybe this time it might be better on happier terms.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Shermy didn’t have the energy to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. “Take the next street on the right and head up the hill.”

They were more or less silent for the rest of the drive home.

* * *

 

 

When they got back to the Chapman-Pines residence the twelve-year-old twins were curled up on the sofa, Sam sleeping in Merm’s lap as the latter read a magazine.

“Mom? Uncle Stan?” Merm put her magazine down and stretched her neck clicking audibly. “What time is it?”

“Midnight" guessed Stan.

Shermy nodded. "It’s way past bedtime, you two.”

 Merm nodded and poked her twin in the side. “Move doofus, my hip’s gone to sleep.”

“Mrrrh?” Sam made a noise like a sleeping kitten, her eyes still closed. “’then stay still.”

“No, my ass is numb. You gotta move.” Merm rolled her half-asleep sister onto the floor, successfully waking her.”

“Ma?” asked Sam sitting up on the lounge floor. “Are the babies okay? What are their names?”

Shermy pointed an index finger towards the stairs.

“I said, bed time, both of you. I can answer questions once we hear more from your brother in the morning. When they’ve had time to fill out birth certificates and things.”

Both twins groaned but they did do as they were told, heading upstairs, single file.

“You run a tight ship.” Stanford laughed. "It's like Ma 2.0"

“Damn straight, I do.” She said, yawning. “You know where the guest room is?”

“Yep, don’t worry about me baby sister. You just get some sleep.”

She followed him down the hallway, checking that he did actually know where he was going.

“Night Stanford, give a shout if you need anything.”

Her brother gave her a thumbs up.

“Night, Nonna Sherm.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Stick it up your ass, Ford.”

“Hey Shermy?” said Stanford.

“Yeah?” concerned, she turned back around to look at him.

He paused for dramatic effect. “Did I _mention_  that you’re a grandmother now?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “ _No_ , you must have forgotten to mention it.” She drawled.

Her brother lingered in the doorway, cracking a smile of his own.

“Yeah, well ‘m proud of you grandma. Seriously, ya raised a good man, in Isaac. He’ll be an amazing dad.”

“Thanks, Ford.” She murmured, a warmth filling her chest, like breathing in sunlight.

Somehow those words meant more to Shermy than any ‘good kid’ or ‘well done’ that Filbrick Pines could offer.

 Her brother closed his bedroom door behind him.

“G’Night.” He called out softly.

Shermy stood in the hallway a stupid smile on her face.

She was a grandmother, a mother, a wife, a sister.

She was content with her lot.

She was alright for now.

 


	8. Interlude 2: Sanctuary (Stanley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1974, Somewhere in Colorado, homeless and alone, Stanley Pines lights a cigarette outside a public library and makes a new friend.
> 
>  
> 
> **Mutiple trigger warnings for this chapter: graphic violence, lesbophobic and transphobic slurs, transphobia, homophobia, unsafe binding practices, negative self talk, descriptions of injury and blood, alcohol mention and consumption, drug mention. Don't take first aid advice from fanfiction.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a very different thing tone wise to the last few chapters and consequently super long (7k!) But I wanted a chapter focusing on Stanley, and the most interesting period of his life not shown in canon is the period of homelessness and roughing it, in between Stan getting kicked out and meeting up with Ford eleven years later. I wanted to write about how getting kicked out skewed Stan's perceptions of self-worth and loyalty into the bitter mess we've seen in other chapters and can i just say daaaaamn this one's a doozy.
> 
> So far in this fic and in this series' canon we've seen a surprising amount of tact and understanding in regards to lgbtqia issues and themes from Stan wrt Dipper being trans and Shermaine's bisexuality. This chapter expands on where a relatively sheltered Jewish kid from small town NJ could have learned about that kind of stuff. I want to hug Stan a lot, I actually cried writing this.
> 
> As normal thank you for all your lovely comments they seriously give me life especially as it's exam time rn and I am stressing big time (almost done with undergraduate whaaat?) if you ever want to tag me in anything related to this fic I track the tag 'shermaine pines tag' on tumblr and my url is trustme-im-a-pirate. 
> 
> You'll notice my chapter notes each have song recs in them now, I've gone through and added the tracks that inspired each chapter while I was writing them so you can listen along if you want (I recommend listening to 'left and leaving', at least for this chapter it's pretty central to the mood.)
> 
> ( **A/N**  Chapter eight soundtrack: [left & leaving by The Weakerthans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrXsz17lFno), [Ghost Towns by Radical Face ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MUA9hoDa40)& [This Empty Northern Hemisphere by Gregory Alan Isakov](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffrz7XUCUr0))

**Interludes**

Sanctuary (Stanley)

_Colorado, 1974._

Stanley Franklin Pines was a warrior, a fighter, the underdog.

Stanley Franklin Pines was an adventurer, a risk taker, an entrepreneur.

Stanley Franklin Pines was alone in the world.

Stuck out under the awning of a public library of a small town, somewhere in Colorado while the grey skies opened and pissed out their contents into the street. He didn’t even remember the name of the town he was in. Life on the road had blurred geography into a serious of landmarks: gas station, gym, parking lot, soup kitchen, bargain store etc. Right now this city was ‘Public Library Parking Lot, Rain’. The parking lot he’d left his car in was visible from where he stood but the rain was coming down in such huge sheets he didn't want to risk ruining the nicest pair of jeans he owned.

Groaning, he pulled out the cigarette he’d tucked behind his ear earlier for safe-keeping, taking his lighter from his pocket, he lit it with hands shaking from the cold. He felt the rush of nicotine before he’d even pulled his hands away. _Much better_.

“Hey, man. Can I use your light?”

Stan glanced up cigarette pressed to his lips. The speaker was a youngish guy, leather jacket, soft round features and slicked back dark hair.

He pressed his back against the wall. Avoiding the spray of the rain.

“Sure thing.” He held up his lighter to the other man’s face and lit his smoke for him.

“This fuckin’ rain, there’ll be no places left to sleep tonight if it keeps up like this.” The guy was saying, shaking his head.

“I guess I’m lucky there,” Stan muttered. “I've still got my ride.” he nodded in the direction of his car.

The other guy whistled low. “Nice car.”

“Thanks, she's all I got.” Stan shrugged. It wasn’t even an exaggeration.

The guy furrowed his brow, thinking. “Hey man, where you from? You sound kinda East Coast at a guess?”

Stanley smiled. “Yep, born and bred. Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. You?”

“Little place just outside Newark. Small World.”

“Sure is. ‘m Stan.”  He held out the hand that wasn't holding his cigarette to his lips.

He was supposed to be Hal Forrester but he’d long grown tired of the name and one stranger on the street wasn’t gonna make that much of a difference.

The man cracked a smile, “Tony.” He said and he shook it.

“Long way from home, huh Tony?”

Stan stared out at the hills in the distance, the trees nearby were turning orange and yellow but the mountains still hung huge and green over the town.

“Depends if you call it home or not.” The other man said with a hint of bitterness to his voice.

“That's true.” He thought of the beach, the pawn shop, the swing set. His chest hurt. He buried it.

“So how did a Kid from Newark end up in Colorado of all places?

Tony shrugged, still staring out at the rain. “Hitch-hiked a bit. Then I caught a bus.”

“I mean what do ya do around here?”

“Try to get by, mostly. I got a gig at the movie theatre on Saturdays, it's not much but it's money y’know.” He smiled a lopsided smile.

Stanley nodded. “Sounds like a good thing. I dabble, I try my hand at inventing, door to door sales that kinda thing.”

Tony shrugged again.“Sounds pretty good to me.”

“Eh, it’s a living I guess.” Stan didn’t sound all that thrilled, even he the master salesman was failing to sell his profession, he was tired and cold and he lived in his car, it wasn’t exactly an easy sell.

“Yeah, well. Good luck with everything, Stan. Thanks for the light.”

"No problemo."

Tony turned and walked away something fluttering down from his pants pocket like a snowflake.

Stan bent down to pick up the square of paper that had fallen through the hole in the other man’s pocket.

He turned it over it was a photo of a young girl building a sandcastle, maybe five or six years old, blond curly hair, sandy hands and a huge grin for the camera.

“Hey buddy, you dropped this!”

Tony turned back around curious, “Huh?”

Stan held out the photo for him to take.

“Sweet kid, she yours?”

Tony stepped back towards him and took the photo, tucking it into his pocket.

“My niece,” he said, smiling at the picture with glassy eyes. “My sister's kid. She's five.”

“I got a kid sister around that age.” Stan said, always one to overshare. “Back in Jersey. I haven't seen her since she was a bundle in a blanket.”

The younger man blinked. “You haven't been home in five years?”  Something in his expression softened at that.

Stanley shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth and shook his head. He tried to smile but the words that left his mouth were anything but chipper.

“No, siree.  Not since I was seventeen”

Tony nodded, kicking at a can on the pavement not far out of his reach. It bounced and rolled out into the rain.

“Same here.’ He said, eyes cast downwards. “I was eighteen though. I’m almost twenty now. My folks had to wait until they could legally kick me out and all that jazz.”

Stan barked out a harsh mirthless laugh, that sounded nice almost, to have a parent who cared about stuff such as the legal age to kick out your own flesh and blood.

It seemed a bit more respectful, if anything.

“My old man didn’t seem to care about something as tiny as the law when he was kicking my ass to the curb.”

Tony laughed awkwardly, searching his face for signs it was an okay topic to laugh about.

“It’s cool you got a car though. I got my license but I left before I got to get a car of my own.”

There was a pause where either man said anything, both stood smoking, staring out into the rain that was already starting to fade in intensity.

Stanley dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped on it. He turned to Tony.

 “Hey man, do you want a ride somewhere or something?” He said, trying to sound non-committal, hands still  in his pockets.

Tony perked up at that. “What really?” He looked at him, wide-eyed and youthful.

“Yeah, the rain is letting up but the weather is still shit, I don't mind dropping you off somewhere. If you want. I don't got nowhere to be.” Stan stared off into the distance

“I was gonna go meet a couple of friends at Sanctuary, this place in town, you can come along if you want. They have free food sometimes too, but they’ve probably closed for lunch by now it’s near three.”

“That sounds swell, c’mon we can make a break for it now and not get soaked.”

 

* * *

 

They’d barely left the library parking lot and were just cruising down a smaller street when they ran into a police stop.

Stan let out a groan of frustration, _just his luck_.

“Hey man, can you pass my license? It’s in the glovebox.”

 _Shit, shit._ This was the opposite of what Stan wanted right now. He thought he’d made a friend here, but now he was gonna know he was a lying snake.

Tony leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, fishing out the license inside.

“Hal Forrester?” he read off the plastic.

“That’s the one.” Said Stan with a sigh. He rolled down his window and handed the card to the policeman who walked up beside it.

“Afternoon, sir. May I have your license and registration please?”

“Here ya go, officer.”

The police officer looked at his license to his face and back at the license again. He checked the date on his car’s registration.

“Everything seems to be in order Mr Forrester. You gentlemen have a good afternoon now."

They drove away in silence. Stan’s internal monologue cussing him out for ruining a good thing once more.

He didn't want to look the other man in the eye now.

“Hey, Tony about that license...” he started to say.

Tony cracked a small smile.

“Don’t mention it, man. Tony isn’t the name on my driver’s license either.”

Stan looked at his new found friend’s face, he smiled, and his grin grew wider until it culminated in a chuckle of disbelief and a slow surprised shake of the head. Stanley liked this kid.

“Guess we’re just a couple of lying Jersey boy tramps huh?”

Tony grinned, his round cheeks dimpled when he smiled. Probably not the best trait for his cool 50’s Grease aesthetic.

“It sure looks that way, don't it?” he said staring out the windshield. 

Stan pulled himself back together, _see Pines not as bad as you thought._ “So, I’m gonna need directions to find this place where your friends are meetin’."

His new friend nodded. “That’s cool, I know the way like the back of my hand by now.” 

“It’s a shelter right? Because just as an FYI I don’t have the best track record for those kind things. Most of my experience with Shelters are those fire and brimstone places where they lie to get you to go in and they won’t let you leave until you do a song and dance for Jesus. Because I wanna be crystal clear here, I would rather drink straight bleach than go through that again.”

Tony nodded with an expression of complete understanding.

“Yeah I know the type, Sanctuary’s not like that though. Despite the name it’s not religious at all. More of a soup kitchen with some beds and stuff. I don’t sleep there that often ‘cause some of the other guys are bigoted assholes but my friends, well the girls do alright there."

"Alright." said Stan, "I'll take your word for it, kid."

* * *

The Main hall of Sanctuary wasn’t much to look at, if anything it reminded Stanley of his high school cafeteria: halogen lights, rows of cafeteria benches with a small buffet section in the far west corner where the food would be served if they were open now.

It looked relatively clean, and not ostentatiously Christian or anything, Stanley considered that a plus. Two flags hung on the entrance-way wall, the Stars and Stripes and another multicolour rainbow flag, not for any country he recognised. Maybe it was a youth group thing?

Stan followed Tony in like a shadow, he made his way over to a bench. In far end of the hall  where a girl was already sat, reading. She perked up immensely when she saw Tony coming her way and put away her book. Tony took a seat opposite her and gestured for Stan to take the seat beside him.

‘Hey, asshole, who’s your friend?” Said the girl, beaming

“Amy, this is Stan he gave me a ride here.” Stan waved a greeting.

The girl nodded, accepting this as enough explanation. "Hey, Stan. You got nowhere to go either?”

“Nope, just drifting through tryna get by.” He said with a smile, hovering around the table, unsure if he should sit or not.

Eventually he gave up and sat down on the bench, next to Tony.

“Aren't we all?” She laughed. “Oh yeah Tony I got you a present.”

She passed him a plastic shopping bag, Tony took it, surprised.

“By got I’m gonna assume you meant stole, right princess?” he said.

The woman smiled smugly. “Don't look a gift horse in the face, dickweed.”

Tony ran a hand back through his slick dark hair, he shot Stan a smile.

“Yeah, that's not how that phrase goes, Amethyst.” He said sounding tired.

“Don’t full name me _Anthony._ Two can play at that game. Aren’t you gonna see what I got for you?”

Tony opened the plastic bag and pulled out a roll of new ace bandages.

His eyes and smile grew huge. “Holy shit, Ames. Thanks!”

“Don’t let me hear you bust a rib or anything, dude I’m fucking serious, you be responsible.” She glared daggers his way. “I mean, it Tony. Don’t hurt yourself.”

He waved off her concern with a hand and turned his attention to Stanley.

“Stan, I'm gonna go change my shirt I'll be back in a little while, you okay to be left with Amy here?”

Stanley nodded, uncertain what else he could say. “Uh sure, man. No problem.”

Tony got up and walked off out of the main cafeteria part of the hall out of Stan’s range of vision.

He turned to the woman, Tony’s friend Amy. She was a fit little firecracker of a woman, with dark eyes and skin, and hair in an afro that floated out around her head and shoulders like a low-hanging cloud. She was wearing a deep green tunic top over bell-bottom jeans. She stretched, clicking her neck loudly.

Stan was more than curious about this lot.

“Are those bandages for his hands or what? Is this some kinda fight club? I’m not judging or anything.” Stan’s voice came out as just above a mumble.

Amy looked a little surprised, she blinked deep brown eyes at him, bemused.

“Uh…. No? This is a _shelter_ , they kick you out if you start shit here.”

“Oh, is Tony alright then? He’s not hurt?” Stan didn’t know what he was missing here. But there was something going on with those bandages, and why did Tony need to change his shirt?

“He’s fine, but he might get hurt, if he insists on binding like an idiot. Last time he almost collapsed a fucking lung.” Amy pursed her lips like she’d eaten something sour.

“Binding what…his feet?” Stan stammered, thoroughly confused now.

The woman’s eyes widened, the corners of her lips flickered like a pulse. She realised he had no clue what she was on about.

 “Oh honey, you have no idea….”

Stan let out an awkward snort of laughter. “Evidently.”

“Uh look, Tony bought you here and he obviously likes you so I can maybe fill you in later if he Okays it.”

“This place we’re sitting in is called Sanctuary it’s a hostel and shelter for homeless youth eighteen to twenty-five, it’s especially for queer kids like me, Tony and the rest of our group. See that older guy in the Hawaiian shirt over there? Salt and Pepper hair?”

He followed where she was pointing the guy in question was talking to one of the chefs in the cafeteria area, a tall Japanese guy in his early sixties.

“Yeah?”

“That’s Kenji, he and his partner Peter run the place.”

“Queer like strange?” he asked. He thought of Ford and his six-fingers, was that an identifier now? Ford would love that. Black thorny vines curled spikes around his heart. _Fuck what Ford would think_. Stan didn’t care about that. _Fuck Ford_.

Amy smiled at that, chewing on her chapped bottom lip.

“To you maybe. I don’t think I’m much stranger than the next girl.” She looked at his face, analysing it reading him for some sign of…something he couldn’t place.

Stanley shrugged. “You seem a pretty fine gal to me.” He tried schmoozing.  

She chuckled. “Why aren't you a charmer? But that's not what I meant.”

 She shook her head to herself.  “Stan, how can I put this…do you like girls?”

“In what context?” he said warily furrowing his brow. _Was she hitting on him?_

“Like as in sex, dating that kind of thing.” _Yeah it sounded like she was._

He looked from side to side to see if he was being set up. “Uhh Yeah? Is that a trick question?”

“No, it’s a yes or no question.” She muttered looking uncomfortable. _Hoo boy Pines, ya still got it._

“Uh yes, then.” He said shrugging again.

Amy grinned. “That’s cool, I like girls that way too.” She picked at a hangnail like it wasn’t a big deal.

Stan took a moment to gather what she was saying, and then it hit him like a blow to the forehead.

_Stanley, ya knucklehead. She’s not hitting on you at all._

“Oh that's what queer means...” He said. “That’s swell, girls are great.”

Amy threw her head back and laughed loud and raucous. “You’re precious. You seem like a nice kid.”

“Thanks I guess, but I’m twenty-one, that’s hardly a kid.” He puffed his chest out a little defensive.

“I’m twenty-three and I can play group momma all I like.” She said, without a care.

“And so Tony and your other friends are they all queer too?”

“Yes. Mostly. Though if you don’t mind me asking honey could you not use that word?”

Stan frowned, confused. “But you just used it I thought-“

“I know and I don’t mean to confuse you. Look I don’t mind it but say oh I dunno…”

She paused to direct a pointed glance at table across from them, where a card game was taking place, one of the players, a young sandy haired kid not much older than eighteen at was sitting in his boyfriend’s lap sporting the ugliest black eye and split lip Stanley had seen in a long time.

 Amy turned back to look at Stan, lowering her voice slightly “Let's say you get a fractured orbital bone when some homophobic shitbrick’s screeching it at you and the word’s likely to make you a little jumpy.”

Stan nodded he’d been on the receiving head of slurs before, mostly from high school bullies in a Glass Shard. “Sure I understand, this is all kind new to me. I’m just a no-good Jewish kid from Jersey.”

Amy’s face relaxed. “If you were really no good, then why would Tony be so friendly to you? He’s hardly a mother hen, He’s not naïve enough to just pick up random stragglers from the street. We don’t have the luxury of that kind of trust here. So trust me, Stan when I say you must be an all right dude.”

Another person joined their table, a tall Latina woman, with long glossy dark hair tied back in a ponytail, pink eyeshadow and peach lipstick, she sidled herself up to Amy and pressed a soft peck against her cheek as she was talking, her lipstick showing up pink and shiny against Amy’s cool brown skin.

Amy surprised, said something muffled in Spanish. Stan couldn’t quite make it out but it sounded like she was asking if someone else had shown. The newcomer shook her beautiful head.

“Rosa, this is Stan a friend of Tony’s, Stan this is Rosario, my girlfriend.”

“Hey nice to meet ya.” Stan said, momentarily stunned by her arrival, she wasn't just tall, Amy’s girlfriend looked like she could bench press Stanley in a second.

Rosario smiled and stretched like a panther or some kind of well-coiffed mountain lion.

“You too, Stan. A friend of Tony's is a friend of ours.” her voice was very soft and gentle, and she smiled a lot.

“Speaking of the guy where he is. It can't take him this long to change his shirt. Said Stan, looking around the hall to see if he could spot the kid with the greaser style leather jacket

“I saw him over by the bathroom, give him another few minutes before we’ll send in the search party.” Said Rosario, wiping an eyelash from her face.

“Or the ass kicking, party. If they’re picking on our guy.” Added Amy, voice hard like diamond.

“Who’s they?” asked Stanley.

“I dunno, some of these other fuckfaces, you can’t trust everyone who comes in here. Everyone is looking out for number one.”

Stan shrugged, his thoughts drawn inward, a flash of his father’s face red and veiny, his brother’s shadow in his bedroom window, their bedroom window. The cold-veined realisation that no one was coming to his rescue, like some hero from a Hardy Boys novel. The taste of betrayal, hot salt tears and snot. Seventeen years old and alone in the world for the first time since his birth.

“’Fraid that’s life, Amy. It’s everyone for themselves out here.” He said, jaw set, unsmiling.

The woman looked her girlfriend, eyes crumpling up at the corners.

“Not everyone.” She said gently.

Stan smiled but it didn’t quite reach his, eyes. _It must be nice_ , he thought, rather unworthily, _it must be nice being able to care about someone other than yourself._

“So uh how did you two meet?” He asked quickly, trying to out talk his bitterness.

The women exchanged a knowing look, and both smiled. Rosario shook her head slowly.

“We actually met in the drunk tank at the same time.” She said.

“No shit? And they say romance is dead.”

Rosario laughed out loud, the noise spluttered out her nose and lips and rolled into the air in waves deep and rich like gospel music.

Stanley felt at ease with these two, life on the road didn't lend well to trusting people but sometimes he got to have moments like this where he felt his broken puzzle piece fit in for once.

“In my defense now, Stan, Amy was the one in the drunk tank, I got dragged in unnecessarily for punching a guy who tried to grab my bag.”

Stan chuckled. “You don't have to sanitise your story for me ladies, we've all been there before.” He said with a lopsided grin.

 “I got released early because a shopkeeper saw him try to take my bag and stood up for me, and as a nice gesture I paid the bail of the charming girl who'd been keeping me distracted with chatter and jokes while we were waiting to get out.”

“-and here we still are nearly two years later.” Amy reached out and interlocked her fingers with the other woman’s. “Still stuck in Shit Lakes, Colorado.”

“Modern Fairy tale that.” Said Stan with a huge grin. “You could sell it to Disney.”

Amy cackled, throwing he head back in laughter again, her hair bobbed around her like cotton candy.

 “Stan you're a riot.” She said. “But d’you really think Disney would buy a story about lesbians meeting in prison?”

 Rosario smiled flashing bright white teeth, she squeezed Amy’s hand tighter.

Stanley shrugged a shoulder, “Maybe not, but someone should.” he said.

“How did you meet Tony, Stan?” Rosario's voice was so quiet and oaky it seemed a little disconcerting coming from her mouth.

“We both got caught out by the rain outside the library and we got talking then I gave him a ride. Nothing special really, I've only just met him to be honest."

“Tony's a good guy. He's got a pretty good grasp of people.” Amy muttered, nodding.

Rosario smiled bright once more. “Yeah he's a star.”

“Who's a star?” Piped up Tony, returning to the table at long last with a clean gray t-shirt and no bandages in sight.

“Talkin about you, not to you, shitnugget.” Amy drawled not missing a beat.

Stan had to appreciate her creativity in terms of endearment. She reminded him of his Ma.

He shuffled over to make room on the bench for his friend to sit.

“Hey Rosa, your Mrs said you were working tonight.”

“I was.” She replied softly, ducking her head. “He didn’t show.”

Stan didn’t ask her about what line of work she was in, he’d lived on the road long enough to know that that was a line of questioning best left alone for most people

“So whaddya do around here for fun, then?” he asked instead.

Tony gave a non committal shrug.

“Work, steal, try to get by and sometimes we go to the movies.”

Amy laughed. “Ah yes, we have swell times here in Nohomesville”

“The movies?” Stan laughed, shooting a glance at Tony.

“Tony smuggles us in usually.” Rosario explained with a little twitch of her shiny lips.

“And What’s showing right now?” asked Stan “I haven’t been to the movies since I left home.”

“I guess we can go find out?” Suggested Tony.

 

* * *

They headed out into the streets, the movie theatre was only a block or two away so it wasn't that far to walk. It was late afternoon, the sky wasn't darkening yet but it wouldn't be long.The fall air was crisp and cool, Tony pulled his leather jacket around him, Stan didn't seem that bothered by the cold.

Someone across the street yelled, not specifically at them but the others flinched.

Stan sensed Tony and Rosario tense up in front of him,

“Is my shirt ok?” he heard Tony whisper as they passed Tony’s coworker manning the ticket stand with a wave and a thumbs up.

The movie theatre interior reminded him Stan of one in Glass Shard: Art Noveau architecture and lashings of red velveteen.

He knew small towns had similar features but this place  was almost spookily the same.

“Yeah, you’re flat, it’s fine. Is this lipstick too much?” Rosario whispered back Stan was not following their conversation with much attention.

“You look nice, Rosa.” Said Tony smiling, looking like a smooth talker from a 50s high school movie.

His friend furrowed her brows. “Nice is well and good but-“

“You’re passing fine, honey.” He said before she could finish. She nodded gratefully.

Stan scratched his nose, feeling out of the loop, “Wait, what are we passing?” He looked around confused.

Amy laughed, looking nervous. She reached out and grabbed Rosario’s hand and held on tightly.

Tony and Rosario exchanged a pointed look. “Can I tell him?” he asked.

She nodded, voice still wispy and gentle. “Of course, I don’t mind.”

“Stan, about the bandage thing before.” Tony started as they headed up the stairs towards where the theatre entrance was.

“Oh yeah I was wondering about that? Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Do you know what the term transgender means?”

“I know what gender means...”

“Well someone whose trans, was born in a body society would normal associate with the opposite gender.” Said Tony, attention on where he was stepping on the faded, soda-stained carpet.

“Right?”Stan did not know where this was going.

“I’m transgender, Stan. So is Rosario. I was assigned female at birth, she was assigned male.”

He saw Amy ball her hands to fists. Pre-emptively.

“Oh, Okay.”  He said, he glanced up and down at Tony quickly before he even thought it might be rude to do so. "What about the bandages?'

"They were for my chest. You know to flatten it."

The metaphorical lightbulb popped up above Stanley's head. That explains it.

"Oh. Ohhhh. Right." he said. "I get it."

“Okay?” said Tony, pausing mid stride. “We good?”

Stan nodded.  “Yeah, we’re peachy. Is that why people were picking on you though? I could have a word with them if they’re giving you trouble, I used to box y’know.”

Tony let out a deep chuckle. “It’s fine, Stan but thank you for the offer.”

“You’re a sweet guy, Stan.” Breathed Rosario, her voice tiny and soft.

“I’m just a guy.” Stan insisted as they headed into the theatre. “I’m just a boring old regular guy.”

She shook her head, but in the darkness of the theatre no one could see.

They took a line of four seats together near the back, and for a little while Stan got to pretend he was just like any other kid his age.

 

* * *

The movie was good, a Wild West comedy not what he usually went in for but Stan enjoyed it.

It reminded him of his favourite movie, Grandpa the Kid and the night he’d met Carla, _Oh Carla_.

Another light from his life that was gone forever.

It was dark outside when the left the theatre, Stan was dying for a cigarette as they walked their way back to Sanctuary.

Stan had parked his car in a Parking lot near there and hopefully all four of them could get a square meal there before they went their separate ways for the night.

“I’m just gonna pop in here for some smokes.” Said Stan gesturing to a newsagents that was still open,

“We’ll wait out here for ya.” Tony stopped, bathed in the halo of a streetlight. The girls nodded their acknowledgments.

Stan went inside, pocketing a few packs of gum and a candy bar with expert ease.

He paid for his cigarettes with cobbled together change,  and stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans as well.

He stopped in the shop entrance hearing shouting, Tony’s voice amongst them and some other guy he hand't seen before.

“I don't have any change man, piss off before someone gets hurt!” Tony was saying.

“What are you? Like twelve? You like some ugly little bulldyke?” The man laughed and it was gross little giggle of a laugh. “You know id never hit a lady but I might make an exception for whatever you are.”

A big guy, six foot and tattooed was standing over Tony getting up in his space.

Tony, with honeyed Jersey words was trying to deescalate the situation.

“Fuck off, guy. I’m telling ya.” He was saying, his eyes wild and furious but also frightened.

“Or you’ll what? Sorry if I’m not trembling from the threat of a little girl.” Stan balled his hands into fists.

Tony was no girl, and Stanley Pines was not going to stand idly by when some brickhead insulted his friend like this.

Evidently he wasn't alone in these thoughts as Amy lunged out from behind Tony at the new guy growling. Rosario grabbed her by the arm and held her back.

“Oooh!” whistled the guy picking the fight “You’re a feisty little Mama, aren’t you?”

Stan stepped forward.

“What’s happening here?” he said, diverting the bully's attention to himself in the hopes Tony could move himself out of the guy’s way.

“Who’s this girlie, your boyfriend?” Stan rolled his eyes, Tony stiffened up.

“Shut the fuck up, leave me the fuck alone. I ain’t done shit to you.” Tony was yelling now, voice rising in pitch with anger.

Stan moved so he was in between the girls and Tony, able to protect both if needed.

He stared down the bully. “There’s two of us and only one of you guy, I don’t know why you’re so cocky.”

“Stan stay with the girls!” yelled Tony, grimacing. Stan’s fingers curled tighter into fists.

“What you gonna do Joan Travolta? Loverboy over there was coming to the rescue." the guy taunted, a sinister smile paying on his lips.

Tony squared his shoulders and set his jaw. Stan knew the body language well enough.

There was gonna be a scrap. All because this asshole wouldn't leave Tony the fuck alone.

His brain ticked over trying to decide the best course of action. His car was maybe half a block away at the most, if he could get the others there they'd be safe.

“Take my keys,” Stan growled in angry trembling Spanish pressing his car keys into Rosario’s palm. The keys to his livelihood. The keys to his _home._

His head screamed at him, running 100 miles an hour. He clenched his friend’s fingers shut around the keys.

 _Oh God,_ he thought, _please don't let my trust be for nothin’_

“Stay safe, get outta here both of you.”

“No!” Amy cried angry and vehement.

Stan looked at Rosario begging her to understand “ _No te preocupas!_ ” He cried finally.

Rosa nodded and dragged her girlfriend by the hand backwards down a nearby alley.

The serious of events that happened next were a jumbled mess of blood, adrenaline and swirling ringing pain.

He remembered a cold hollow series of thoughts, like bullet points in his head.

_Tony was a good guy, he didn't deserve this._

_The kinda scum who picked on someone for existing a certain way deserved to get pummelled into the fucking earth._

Stanley was a no good kid, but at least he could try to do some good things, and his Pop wasn't there to stop him.

When he saw the punch fly, he didn't even notice he was moving to put himself in the way.

He was thinking of Crampelter, of the schoolyard bags of shit who’d bullied Ford for his extra fingers.He was thinking of the photo Tony had dropped earlier of a little blond girl on the beach and the weight of little Shermy, his baby sister in his arms when he held her for the first time.He was thinking of his Ma who’d still been there for him with food and cash and clothing until he finally left the state. He was thinking how Tony deserved the Hardy Boys hero he never got. No one deserved to feel as alone as he had that night.

The first hit got him square on the bridge of his nose he both heard and felt the monstrous crunch at the same time. Boxing Instinct kicked in and Stan swung a punch and brought his knee up quick and hard and kneed his opponent in the balls, the guy aimed another weaker punch that split Stan’s lip.

Tony moving in quick to break them up got a swing in and punched the guy in the ear and with all his strength pushed him down and away long enough to grab and drag Stanley out of the way,  

He dragged Stan backwards into an alley his arms around his middle, then when they paused, doubled over gasping for breath. Tony panting for air, Stan spluttering bloody spit into a drain.

Tony lifted Stan up supporting his weight and slung one of his arms around his shoulder, helping pull them both up to stand.

“You stubborn, naïve, soft-hearted Jersey fuck.” Tony was saying, voice tremulous in Stan’s ringing ears.

Stan laughed, but it came out a gurgle.

His friend was breathing hard, blood on his white t-shirt.

“Why’d ya step in front of me, Stan? You don't know me from Adam! Shit, you've known me for a couple of hours at the most!”

“You din't deserve it.” He muttered through swelling lips. He could taste blood, a lot of blood, almost like his spit had turned to steel.

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “No but neither did you. This wasn't your fight.“

Not able to access his full range of consonants due to a broken and bloody nose and swollen mouth, Stan just shrugged with an exaggerated lift of his shoulder.

“No one should get hit jus’ for bein’ them.” Said Stan, his head spinning. “Rather this ugly mug than you, Tony boy.”

“I-I Thanks man. You're a good friend.”

Stan nodded, consciousness swimming. Face and brain screaming in pain.

He was a no-good kid but he was a good friend.

“Where are the girls?”  Tony was saying, somewhere in between the ringing in his ears that was like fingers on the rim of a wineglass.

“My car.” Stanley spat.

“You gave them your car keys?!” he cried incredulous, “Oh for fucks sake, Stan you are either the cleverest or the dumbest son of a bitch I've _ever_ had the pleasure to meet.”

He wanted to laugh at that but his mouth was full of blood, and when he tried to smile blood and spit just drooled out his lips.

“C’mon, Stan. Let's get back to the others.” 

 

* * *

Stan didn't remember the rest of the walk back to the car. He remembered being in the alley and then sitting on the asphalt with the headlights on his face, while Rosario poured over his nose feeling around. She was evidently the one with some medical training as she was the one pointing fingers and barking orders.

“We need ice and something to numb the pain.” She was saying.

Amy opened the driver’s door “Stan do you keep any painkillers in here, like Advil, ibuprofen?”

He shook his head. “Whiskey in the back seat.”

Rosario shrugged “That’ll do, it's an antiseptic too. Tony I need you to get ice.”

Tony was starting to panic “Where the fuck do I get ice at this hour looking like an ax murderer?”

Amy smacked him on the back of the head, with the side of her palm.

“You can drive, shitbiscuit. Get us to a gas station and then we can grab more painkillers and shit”

“Stan, would you be okay with that? It’s your car.”

“Fuckin peachy.” He managed out trying to not spit up blood on Rosario because well, Ma Pines had brought him up knowing better than to vomit on a lady.

There was a shuffling game of musical chairs as, four people tried to fit in Stan’s crowded pigsty of a car.

Rosario helped him to the passenger seat, telling him to keep his head tipped forward to stop the blood from running down his throat.

She let him take a swig of whiskey first. He was grateful to taste something other than metal.

“You don’ need to go to all dis trouble.” Stan said, still clutching at his bloody face.

“Man, shut the fuck up.” barked Tony, eyes on the road. “We look after our own, even if I have to shoplift you another bottle of whiskey to do it,”

Stan leant his head forward, snickering. He was somebody's “own”, even if it was just for the moment, _he belonged somewhere_.  

Filbrick Pines could take his household and his fortune, and stick them up his guilt-tripping, emotionless ass.

“I'm not fucking joking, Stan.” Tony said as he pulled into the gas station. “At this point I'd give you the shirt off my back and the bandages off my tit if ya asked, you took a fucking hit for me, man.”

Stan shrugged it off, swollen lips smiling.

“He's right Stan.” Amy piped up from the back “That’s pretty badass.”

“I'd say that's what I was thinking, but ta be honest I don't think I was thinking at all when I did it.”

Rosario laughed, rich and sweet like molasses. “You were thinking enough to make sense in Spanish.”

“What can I say I'm man of many talents?” He tried not to laugh any more his whole face felt hot and numb.

The pain wasn't fading but he felt like he was starting to get used to it a little.

“You’re a man of mystery” Said Amy with a chuckle.

“Ooh that's good, can I get that in writing?"

“Hold tight, Mr Mystery, I'll be back with ice and supplies” Tony said as he parked the car.  

“Then we better set that nose of yours” said Rosario leaning forward when they came to a stop, belt unbuckled so she could look around the seat at him.

Stan shuddered involuntarily, preemptively feeling the crunch.

“Eugh! Shit. The setting is the worse bit.” he muttered.

“But we gotta do it otherwise it heals wrong, and I doubt you can afford a hospital visit at this rate, can you?”

Stan shook his head, gently trying to not shake his nose too much.

“Not for something small like this.”

“Do you break your nose on the regular then?” asked Amy.

“Nah, just once when I was a kid.”

“Get in another fistfight?”

“Not exactly.”

Stan struggled to find a cool way to phrase ‘When I was 12, I got hit in the face by the jib of the boat I was fixing because my nerd brother was waxing poetic about explorers instead of watching the wind.’

“Boating accident.” He said finally.

He wanted a cigarette but his lips felt fat and heavy.

Amy shivered. “Ow.” She said.

Stan shrugged trying to seem cooler than he really was. “I guess.”

Tony came back to the car with more whiskey, painkillers. Paper towels and a bag of ice.

“Alright, time to General Hospital this shit, Dr Medoza.” He said passing Rosario the ice.

She chuckled rich and warm like the whiskey on Stan’s lips, she got out of the car to come around to the passenger side door.

“Do you want me to come out?” he asked her.

She shook her head, “No I just want you to stay still for a bit, okay? This is gonna sting.”

Stanley winced but nodded. _Be brave ya knucklehead,_ he screamed at himself internally.

Rosa took a paper towel and doused it in whiskey from the already open bottle then dabbed at the dried blood on the bridge of his nose both cleaning the wound and removing the blood so she could see better.

“Son of a bitch!” hissed Stan as the pain cut through him. “I thought I was gonna _drink_ the whiskey.”

“Sorry.” Murmured Rosario gently. “It’s an antiseptic, a good one at that. You can have some in a bit once I’ve set your nose.

“You sound like my Ma” Stan said, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to stare uncomfortably at the woman’s face.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” wondered Amy from the back.

Stan thought of his mother back home in Jersey, her grating voice, her constant lying and all the trouble it cause, how her perfume smelt like a rose garden when he hugged her, how she never gave up on her son even when everyone else had, including Stanley himself.

“It’s both.” He said.

Opal Pines was a complex woman.

Rosario chuckled. “On the count of three now.” she said, voice lilting like music. 

Stan took in a slow deep breath of air and started counting.

“ONE, TWO-“

 _ **CRUNCH**_. Stan was hit by a wave of white hot radiating pain sweeping out from his nose.

“ _Holy fucking Moses_ , Rosa!” he cursed spluttering.

She smiled, satisfied with her work. “It’s set. Keep still for a bit.”

“I think he deserves that drink now.” Piped up Tony, who was looking rather green around the gills.

Stan reached to take another swig of the whiskey, and he just kept drinking until he didn’t have to feel his face anymore.

* * *

 

His memory of the rest of the night was swimming in places, faces and pictures rippling with a cocktail of alcohol and painkillers, he remembered they went back to Sanctuary to get something to eat and Stan felt like he was coming home. The memory cut sharp slicing at the inside of his chest.

This place wasn’t home, but it could be.

He awoke the next morning safe in the backseat of his car, with a killer headache and the inside of his nose feeling like it was riddled with broken glass.

However bad he felt though, it somewhat subsided when he remembered the events of the night before, and he saw the yellow post-it note Amy had stuck to the back window.

“Hey Stan,

we locked the car from the inside when we brought you back.

Your keys are in the glove box with the rest of the Advil.

Thank you again, for looking out for Tony and us. Hope your nose feels better tomorrow.

See you around maybe?

Amy & Rosa xoxo”

Underneath the note in the corner Rosa had doodled a cartoon Stan punching a popeye-like bully with huge muscles while cartoon versions Tony, Amy and Rosario looked on and cheered.

‘Our hero’ she’d written in purple pen with a pretty cursive hand.

Stanley Franklin Pines lay his head back down on the car seat and smiled staring at the note.

Stanley Franklin Pines wasn’t quite alone in the world.

Stanley Franklin Pines was a hero.


	9. Age 17: The Five of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17 year old Shermy Pines tries to get away from the stress of being a single parent just for an afternoon on the day of her brother's Jahrzeit but her family follows her in everything she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says 17 and in the first draft Shermy was 17 in this and it was the winter holidays (in ATOTS it's snowing when Ford and Stanley meet up wtf is with that if it's July 4th) but since I set the date of Ford's disappearance as July the 4th as is more or less canon, it meant adjusting the dates in this. Shermy's birthday is the 18th of August and the day of Stanley's accident was listed as the 26th of July she is not quite 17 here but we have enough chapters of 16yo Sherm as is. I swear the timeline of this show is so unreliable even if you are a G4G believer like me (not in this Au though Shermy is the best Grandma out there). 
> 
> Filbrick Pines is a very complex character in my head but I have less desire to show that here, so if it seems he's an abusive dick that's because... he is an abusive dick and he may have his own rationale but seriously kicking out your kid isn't okay and I decided I didn't want to explain away his behaviour with excuses in this because he's an easily real character without them. 
> 
> The song Changer by Anais MItchell is a really good sad track for Stanley and young Shermy's relationship or lack thereof, I listened to it a lot when writing this chapter:
> 
> "Speaking of loving you, I do. I'm telling you stranger to stranger. Whatever changes come to you, I'm telling you changer to changer. Morning has stolen your shadow from me, but I hold its shape in my mind, the shape of your back when you turned it on me, one last time."
> 
> (A/N The soundtrack for this chapter: [Changer by Anais Mitchell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9AG6OYEjF0), [Kooks by David Bowie, ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsSlOGzPM90) [You are a memory by Message to Bears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2w8Cm0ZZ2s) )

_26 th July 1987_

There was motor oil in her hair, all over her clothes. Despite her best efforts there was even a little motor oil on the baby, just above his eyebrow, he didn’t care. He didn't care about anything, he was close to sleeping. Isaac needed noise to sleep and he was quite happy to listen to her muck about, soft body resting against her chest, her free arm supporting him. She set the wrench down on the ground beside her bike and wiped the oil across her forehead.

“How we doing little guy?” she asked, softly.

Isaac clenched a tiny death grip around her finger, a bubble of spit blowing on his lips. His eyes were closing slowly, steady breath carrying him off to sleep.

“Yeah I know the feeling.” She said to her sleeping son and the garage packed with boxes of her brother's old stuff.  Her voice reverbed slightly off the various surfaces, it bounced of her bike and the workbench.

“Come on then, bud. Let’s go upstairs to put you to bed.”

Isaac didn't answer, he was three and a half months old, and by his understanding everything could be bed if he tried hard enough.

Sherm wiped the Oil off his head with spit and the fabric of her t-shirt.

She carried him upstairs humming to him the first thing to pop into her head, a guitar riff from some catchy Bowie song that she’d had on in the garage while she was screwing around with her bike.

She made her way upstairs through into the living/dining room, Julie had invited her to a friend’s apartment “ to just hang out catch up and talk about life you know”  She hadn't known Julie all that long they been dating for almost a month, and wondered if that was just some kind of code for weed.

Shermy didn't really have any time for that these days, she was exhausted she just wanted to see the cute girl she was dating and get to spend time together as a person not a human appendage attached to a baby.  

She wanted to be herself for a bit. She probably could do with a shower first and check there was enough expressed milk left in the fridge to tide Isaac over until this evening.

Her mother was talking to someone in hushed tones, a friend on the phone? Her father? A reading?

Sherm thought nothing of it and went into her room to put Isaac down.

They’d finally got rid of her brothers’ old bunk beds and moved around most of the furniture so Shermy could fit in a new single bed, her old crib and a changing table. The desk still stayed put, now filled with baby gear as well as boxes of Stanford's old school trophies and the like.

She set her son down in his crib, Isaac kicked his legs for a bit but was almost entirely asleep already. Shermy wiped the leftover traces of motor oil from his forehead with a wet wipe. She wiped the excess from her hands as well and turned on the baby monitor. Before she left she pressed a kiss to her son's soft slightly damp forehead.

“Sleep well, little man.” She whispered on her way out the door.

She wandered into the main room, mentally tossing up if she should eat before she went out, but her thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of crying.

She stopped, looking at her mother, standing with her back to her, head bowed.

“Ma?” There came no answer, just more sniffling. 

Shermy made a fist with her hand, something was wrong. Her mother made a big deal out of trying to not cry in front of her daughter.

She tried asking again. “Ma, is everything okay?”

Opal Pines turned around, her eyes heavy and lidded, dregs of mascara and eyeliner leaving butterfly kisses under her eyes.

She looked at her daughter like she was the sun, her happiness, her little Shermy,

“Do you know what day it is today, bubba?” she asked, in a voice mixed with tears.

Sherm closed her arms across  her chest  for comfort and strained her head to think. It was the summer holidays, she wasn’t exactly paying attention to the date.

“Um. Monday?” She said stealing a glance at the calendar, “Monday the 26th of July?”

“It's the Jahrzeit, Shermy, it's your brother’s Jahrzeit.” Her mother looked so old, her face lined and stained with tears holding a white candle in her hands.

“Oh my g- Mom, I'm so sorry. It completely escaped me.”

“That's alright, honey, you've had a lot on your plate. I didn’t light it last night because your father was around and I know he doesn’t want to be there for this. Is Isaac asleep?”

Shermy nodded without a word.

“Do you want to help me?” Opal sounded near to begging.

“Of course, Ma. I’ll clear a space on the windowsill”

“I’ve already done that, we just need to light it.”

“We’ll do it together, then.”

“Thank you, my darlin’.” She sniffled again, pressing a kiss to Shermy’s soft brown hair.

“My darling little girl.”

“Not so little anymore.” replied Shermy.

Opal smiled, a little bit of it even reached her eyes.

“No, that’s true.” She said.

They moved over the living room window that faced out onto the street. Opal had set up her own mother’s silver filigree holder they used to hold Jahrzeit candles.

 She gave Shermy the matches as her own hands were trembling too much to light.

Shermy struck the match and held it out for them to hold together. They lit the candle. Shermy extinguished the match. The room was quiet, reverent even.

She thought of Stanley, her big brother she hardly got to know. Her throat hurt, she felt so conflicted. She didn't feel all that attached to him, but at the same time she felt his absence every day.

 “How’s it been five years without him Shermy?” her mother’s voice cracked.

“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around her mother’s bony waist and hugged her close. She smelt like incense and rose water. Opal pines hugged her daughter back with all her strength.

“I just keep hoping one of these days, I’m gonna call out and both my baby boys are gonna come upstairs for dinner.” She mumbled into her daughter’s shoulder.

At almost seventeen Shermy was noticeably taller than her, though still tiny compared to her father and brothers.

“ _Oh Ma_. I do too.”

“Five whole _years_ , bubbele.”

I know. It feels even longer to me. It was more like seventeen years to me. I never knew Stanley.

This was probably the wrong thing to say as her mother burst into fresh tears.

“He’s never gonna get to meet his nephew. You were already denied a brother, now Izzy is without an uncle.”

“I know, Ma. Come on now, si’down at the table.” She guided her mother to the living room table.

“You gots something black on your face, darl.”

“It’s motor oil. I was fixing up my bike so I can go out later. You’re still okay to look after Isaac, right? I mean I can cancel if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“No, Shermy honey. I can manage looking after my own grandson, I’m not working this afternoon neither. So you can have a nice time with your little friends. You’ve been working too hard lately, what with all your schoolwork catch up and the baby.”

“Is Dad downstairs?”

“No he's gone down the pier.”

“Oh.” The pier had slot machines, the pier had shitty smoky bars that catered to fishermen and the bad kind of tourist. Her father was spending more and more time there these days and time, as he always said, was money.

Opal squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It’s hard on him too, honey.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Shermy wasn’t sure if tht fact was she didn’t believer her mother or if it was she just couldn’t care about how her Pop was feeling about all of this. _He’s made his bed_ , snarled an uncharitable thought, _now he’s got the rest of his life to lie in it._

_That’s more than he ever gave Stanley._

 

* * *

 

She'd just wanted to get out of the house for a bit. Hang out with Julie and her weird arty friends. It was the summer holidays, and the temperature outside was in the low nineties. She was going stir crazy stuck at home but there weren't many of her old hang out spots that were kid friendly.  

She just needed to get out and do something. She needed to felt almost seventeen again.

She called Julie before she left and got her friend’s address from her, then pulled her bike out of the garage.

“Ma, are you sure that you'll be fine without me?” She said heading back into the house and getting her bag together.

Opa; waved a dismissive hand. "I'll survive, honey. Are there bottles in the fridge?”

Shermy nodded. “Yeah should be plenty,”

“You won't be too late home will you?”

“No, Mom I’ll try to be home before nightfall.”

“Thanks, darl. You're too good to me, Shermy."

“Don't get all schmaltzy, Ma. You’re my _mother_ , you literally brought me into the world. Don't act like you don't deserve a kid who respects you just because Ford’s got his head stuck far up his own ass and poor Stanley’s not around no more.”

“Be nice to your brother. He was good to you when you needed him.

“Yeah, he was and I'm grateful but I haven't heard from him since Isaac was born. Ford promised when we saw him off he’d keep in touch and it's been months now. I mean a phone call now and then wouldn't kill him, Ma.”

He probably just doesn't have the time, bubby.”

Her daughter frowned. "Then he should make the time."

Sherm let's just drop the subject, okay? I'm tired and it's a day of remembrance, yeah? We should be thinking about our Stanley.

“I don't have any memories of him, Moms. I wish I did.”

Opal sighed again, shaking her dark head. “I know honey, I know. Go have a nice time with your friends. Don't let this old crone keep you here any longer.

“Give Izzy a kiss from me, Bubbeh.” Shermy said, brushing out her hair. She disappeared back into her room and changed the t-shirt she’d slept in into a light blouse with tiny blue flowers printed on it, she pulled on some slacks, they were a little hot for this weather but if she was riding her bike it paid to be protected..

She hadn't had a chance to have a shower so she fussed a bit with makeup and earrings, making herself presentable enough that her face and clothes didn’t scream “I am a sleep deprived single mother with no friends.”

The current trend of big hair was working to her advantage that day as the humidity made her hair frizz and splay out all over the place, frustrated she tied it back in a ponytail.

* * *

 

Julie’s friends lived on the other side of Glass Shard Beach, away from the waterfront, in a tiny little two-story apartment block, not far from the high school. Shermy arrived a little after four. Julie was waiting for her in the front doorstep, she greeted her with a soft peck on the lips and showed her in up the stairs and into the living room. Three others sat sprawled over the armchairs, one girl sat with a spread of coloured cards stretched out over the floor.

“Hey guys this is Shermy.” Julie said her hand hovering gesturing in the air. The three strangers made “Shermy this is Lorraine, Kurt, Clara and Benji is around somewhere.

“He’s gone to buy smokes” Said one of the girls who Shermy thought she recognised from Temple, Lorraine, Shermy thought that was what Jules said her name was. She was in Shermy's year at high school too. The others were noticeably older, Kurt and Clara were both at their first year of college with Jules.

“Hey” she said with an awkward little wave. She didn't know what else to say and she wanted to play it cool.  She clenched a vice grip on Julie’s hand for strength.

“Shermy, is it?” Asked the other woman with the dyed red curly hair. Clara she deduced. She had warm bronze skin and thick dark eyebrows, one of which was pierced and decorated with a small golden ball. “Cute name.”

Shermy chuckled. “It's short for Shermaine which is less cute, makes me sound like a tank.” she scrunched up the bridge of her nose. She hated her full name.

The first girl, - it was Lorraine wasn't it? -  laughed at that.

“You’re a little dainty to be named for a tank."

“She's small but deadly.” Quipped Julie taking a seat on a floral patterned sofa in Lorraine and Clara’s living room.

Shermy hovered around for a bit before sitting now next to her.

“Is she the one with a kid?” the guy asked. Shermy swallowed a sigh.

_Ah, her reputation preceded her._

In the corner of her eyes she saw Julie open her mouth ready to defend her.

Shermy squeezed her hand to indicate it was okay.

 “Yeah that's me, I am that beacon of sin” she deadpanned.

The guy, Kurt laughed at that “I like her.” He announced to Julie.

Julie laughed warm and surprised, her thumb brushed across the heartline of Shermy’s palm.

Comfort. Affection. Approval.

She glanced over Sherm’s face, fondness reflecting out her eyes like a rainbows from a prism.

“Yeah, she’s okay I guess.” She joked.

Sherm stuck her tongue out at her, like she was a sarcastic child. But inside she was squealing at the flattery.

Her toes crinkled up in her boots, head spinning like a lovesick teen.

Well, technically speaking she really _was_ a lovesick teen. She was a teen and she was in love.

“Is that your bike?” asked Kurt looking impressed.

“Yeah, I fixed her up myself this morning while I was waiting for my son to settle.” She said.

“It’s a beautiful bike.” He said, staring out the window at where she’d parked.

“How old is your baby?” asked Clara, out of politeness and curiosity Shermy suspected rather than anything negative.

Julie made a face “Come on guys don't bother her about the kid, she's here to have fun.”

“Three months. He's safe at home with my Mom right now. It’s fine.”

Lorraine quite helpfully changed the subject.

 “Hey Shermy, Clara was just reading everyone's tarot, you should let her do you. “

“Tarot, huh?” Her mother’s aging face came to mind again.

Her from that morning with shaking hands lighting a candle for Stanley. Her gut tied itself in a knot She buried It.

“Yep,” Clara smiled, “It’s just a bit of fun, do you want a reading?”

Shermy glanced at Julie, who winked.

“It can't hurt” she said smiling.

“Lori, where did you put that wine?” asked Julie.

The dark haired girl looked up at her name.

“Uh, right. It’s just on the door of the fridge, Jules.”

Shermy turned her attention to Clara.

“Okay, now what kind of reading do you want?”

She shrugged her shoulders, feeling exposed left with these strangers without Julie nearby.

“To be completely honest I have no idea.”

“I'll just use the Major Arcana to give me more of an idea of the important figures or themes in your life right now. Just a line, not a French cross or anything fancy."

Shermy shrugged once more, now feeling she should have paid more attention to her mother’s tarot readings.

“Okay. Sure.” She said, just wanting to be included really.

“I hope I shuffled it properly, you don't have get those two appearing together here almost like a pair.”

“I didn't think there were any pairs in the Major Arcana,” Said Shermy. “I mean there aren’t any suits.”

“No, true. But it's not often you get the Fool and the Magician side by side. Often the archetype cards refer to a person.”

“The Fool and the Magician, huh” _Oh, god_. Oh great, just who she needed to be thinking about.

The fool represents new beginnings and journeys he is an encouragement to reach your full potential. When referring to a person he represents a free spirit. Someone who doesn't adhere to rules and loves blindly with an almost childish naivety. On the flip side he can represent recklessness, naivety and rushing in to big things.”

“ _My little free spirit, my baby boy. Once I held him in my arms like you hold Isaac._

_He was the happiest little boy, bubby. A real Luftmensh, never let anyone else tell him how to think._

_I loved him so much for that. Oh God, Shermy. I loved them both so much.”_

“Well as much I want to be a cool don't-play-be-the-rules kinda girl I fear I'm far too much of a pessimist for that to be me!” Shermy joked, she buried the memories and the feelings for later. She had to at least pretend to be normal here. She had to fit in.

The others chuckled, Julie returned from the kitchen with plastic cups and a very cheap-looking bottle of pink wine which she raised up to the group like she was bestowing an offering. Lorraine and Kurt cheered. Shermy took the red cup when her girlfriend offered it. The wine was disgustingly sweet to her pallet, she sipped at it slowly, not wanting to drink much while she was still breastfeeding.

  “It could be someone else.” Said Clara, watching this with a small smile.

Her voice was very evocative. Her laugh ebbed from her lips rich, warm and coppery.

Something in her accent reminded Shermy of her father, of his room in the back of the store that smelt of cigar smoke and wood polish.

She pushed that memory to the side also.

“My brothers’ birthday is April Fools’ Day, I don't know if that has any connection.”

“The interpretation of these things is mostly up to you. The way I use it is more like a mirror or like meditation. If you find a meaningful connection between the card and your life than as far as I'm concerned that's a valid interpretation. Perhaps when I continue the reading it'll make more sense...”

She shifted her attention to the next card, depicting a man in red and white robes holding a wand aloft above his head was the sign for infinity, on his desk sat a cup, a pentacle and a sword. Representing the four suits of the minor arcana and the four elements.

“The magician however represents good planning and skill, knowledge and resourcefulness, quite the opposite to the Fool, which is interesting that they arose together, like ying and yang.

“That's definitely my other brother that one” she said “He's a physicist, he was a doctor by twenty-four.  He won a bunch of scholarships and stuff.”

“Ooh, a doctor?” said Lorraine wincing with all the wisdom of a child born to similarly overbearing Jewish parents “Tough act to follow that one.” She added, with sympathy in her voice.

* * *

 

_“A writer?” Filbrick’s moustache curled up in disgust he glanced between the essay he held in his hand to his wife who crossed her arms and frowned at him  and his daughter whose glowing smile of accomplishment was quickly dying on her lips._

_“Fil! She's fourteen, for pete’s sakes,  leave her alone. You should be proud of her. Our little Shermy  published in the paper,”_

_“No Opal, I'm going to nip this thing in the bud now. Look here girl, your mother and I don’t work our asses to the bone for you to turn out some airy-fairy artist type who lives from cheque to cheque, that doesn't pay the bills, kid. Writin’ doesn't look after your parents when they're old!”_

_“Writing isn't just for authors, Dad. Mrs Carson thinks I should look into studying Journalism at college. She even put my name forward to write a regular column in the school paper.”_

_Opal nodded enthusiastically, “Exactly! a journalist in the family at this young? You should be more proud of your daughter, Fil.”_

_Stanford I'm proud of, you should try and be more like him. Try your hand at some science._

_I'm not him, though am I? I'm the other kid you didn't want. The afterthought._

_Shermaine, don't speak to your father in that tone._

_“Why, Ma? I'll never live up to Ford in his eyes, why should I give a shit what he thinks about me?”_

_“watch your_ language _!” Her mother's voice came out shrill and grating._

_Filbrick scowled, brown eyes peered over his glasses, full of disapproval._

_“Don't get short with me, girl.” He snarled, a fat finger pointed to the door. “Go to your room!”_

_She snatched the essay out of her father's hands and hugged it close to her chest, stomping down the hall she wondered, in her misery, why her family had to taint everything she loved._

_“Fine! I'll just be in my room then, pretendin’ I wasn't born, since that's evidently what you want.”_

* * *

Shermy shrugged, moving to make space beside her on the sofa for Julie.

“Yeah they love Stanford, big time. I don't have to hear about it as much,  these days, because now he's too busy to come visit.” She let slip a self-depreciating laugh, snuggling up against her girlfriend. “At least I get in their good books by having grandchildren, never mind how precocious I was about it.”

Julie snorted into her cup.

“That's certainly one way of looking at it.” She said. “Hey where's Benji at, anyway?”

“He should be here soonish.” Said Kurt across the room where he was draped across a garish flowery armchair. “He’d better be, I'm dying here.”

“Oh you poor baby, what not getting enough attention over there?” Julie oozed, teasingly.

“I'm wilting before my time, Juliet. I'm like a rare but beautiful Orchid.”

“Yeah yeah and you need boys and cigarettes instead of water to live. And don't call me Juliet.”

“Darling, you wound me!” Kurt clutched at his chest as if she had stabbed him.

Clara rolled her eyes and grinned looking at Shermy. “Should we continue?”

“Ah sure, what's the next card?” she asked.

“The last three cards are reversed, the first reversed card is the world.”

“I predict that means she's gonna flip her shit.” Shouted Kurt.  

Julie rolled her eyes.It was a lame joke but Shermy giggled keen to fit in.

“Heyy Lorraine, Lori, Loribeth.” Kurt’s voice echoed inside his red plastic cup.

Lorraine flipped him off.

“Shut up, Kurt. Whatever you're gonna say.  Shut it.”

They had an interesting bantery relationship these two, Shermy noted, they could almost have been siblings.

“Are you gonna go for Guys and Dolls with me?” Kurt asked, well begged might have been a more fitting term.

Lorraine snorted “No way, Josè. You know I don't do musicals.”

“Aw come on, you can't let me audition all on my lonesome.”

“Watch me.” Lorraine grinned leaning back against her armchair.

“Aw, baby-cakes, sugar mouse.”

“Fuck off, I'm not auditioning for that tacky shit.”

“Jules? Clarabelle?” Kurt glanced around looking for backup.

“Nope” Julie shook her head.

“I can't, Kurt. I've got a huge piano recital in like two weeks.”

Julie snorted underneath her “Hey Shermy, ya any good at singing?"

“Don’t listen to him, babe.”

“I’m great at many things, she joked, but singing is not one of them. Believe me Kurt, you don’t wanna hear these pipes.”

“Fine, I’ll audition by myself." he whined.

"Oh boo fucking hoo.” Muttered Lorraine smirking, she tucked strands of dark curly hair behind her ears and sipped her wine.

“Cry us a river, Kurt.” Added Julie, stroking Sherm’s head in her lap.

“You wanna finish this reading?” asked Clara, glancing at Shermy not sure if they were continuing.

“Sure.” Said Shermy, propping herself up on an elbow. “The world reversed, doesn't sound like a good thing though.”

Clara smiled. “It's not exactly bad but it's not great either from what I can tell, I need to read up on its reverse meaning though. The world when upright represents wholeness, completion. Something or someone who has reach their completion of a relationship or an event.”

Shermy paused, thinking. “So the opposite of that is something unfinished. Or something that should be finished but isn't?” she said.

Clara nodded, her gold eyebrow piercing glinted in the light. “More like a need for closure, but yes.”

 

* * *

 

_Her mother sat at the table in the living room staring at the flickering candle light through fresh tears that spilled unceremoniously down her cheeks._

_“The last time I saw Stanley alive he was almost nineteen. He was twenty nine when he died. That's ten years gap, ten years without my baby boy in my life and then the next time I see him is to put him in the dirt. It’s not right, Shermy. It's not fair.” Opal Pines, stared at the wood of the tabletop, looking defeated._

_Her daughter took both her hands in her own and said nothing, because there was nothing she could say. Life wasn't fair, and they knew that._

* * *

 

“I know what that card refers to”. Shermy said, her face purposely devoid of emotion, she squeezed Julie’s hand idly. “Next card please.”

Clara nodded. The next card is a person, well it usually means a person The Hermit reversed.

Shermy grinned, “Oh Jules, finally one that sounds like me!”

The others laughed, Clara’s berry-coloured lips curled upwards in a smile.

“You’re hardly a hermit, babe, you're here now aren't you?”

“Yeah well, having a kid will isolate even the most social extrovert.”

“That might be what this card refers to, I'm not sure. But when reversed the hermit means isolation, and either a lack of personal reflection or too much inward thinking.

Shermy thought about this, Julie was right she wasn't that isolated socially, after all she did manage to get a girlfriend while still looking after an infant, not many people could say that.

Maybe this card was meant for somebody else, but who?

Ford was definitely a literal hermit but that was nothing new, and in fact the Ford that she met in Oregon seemed more outgoing than the nerdy kid she remember growing up, Ford was running a business, putting himself out there.

This was someone else in her family, Ford and Stanley’s cards had already surfaced. One of her parents then?

Opal Pines. The hollow-eyed and shrunken woman she left in charge of Isaac this afternoon, she wasn't the same big-talking, dramatic, personable liar her mother was when she was younger. In fact Shermy hadn’t noticed a single lie pass her mother's lips all day. Was this the result of too much thinking or not enough?

* * *

“ _Are you gonna be okay, Ma?”_

 _“_ Oy _Sherm, I'm not gonna be okay if you keep asking me. Yes, I can manage while you're out have some faith in me, honey._

_I don't just mean while I'm out, Mom._

_“Oh.  That's…Uh well. That's a harder question to answer.”_

_Shermy smiled, a little sad. “It's more or less the same question, just a different context.”_

_“-And what a context that is: my son has been dead five years today. I can't just put a hat and feather boa on that and pretend it ain't happening. I've tried. Some things don't erase so easy. I've tried to outrun this, but he's my son Shermy my own son, and I denied him the most basic human rights. How can I be okay knowing what I did? And what for? To appease your father? Was it out of anger? Sure I was mad at him for jeopardising Stanford's happiness, I mean I was furious!  I thought that Filbrick was right and one night on the street would scare him, make him think about his mistakes. I never meant to lose him forever, but your father…” Opal closed her eyes tight and her voice trailed off clenching her hands into fists. Her knuckles shone white through olive skin._

_Opal Pines chewed her lip and sighed. “I'm sorry, Shermy. I'm a terrible mother, ain't I?”_

_Shermy had shook her head no, without a word._

_“You’re just a mother. My mother.” She said finally. “I'm a mother too now, it's no longer my place to pass judgement. We just are.”_

* * *

The final card left showed a white bearded king on a white throne, dressed in armour and red robes a sceptre in one hand, a fierce expression on his face.

“This is the emperor, in upright position he represents structure and a father figure, routine and regularity. In reverse, which you drew him. He represents a dictator, someone who uses takes the next for structure to far into authoritarian power-hungry territory. “

Shermy laughed, she threw her head back and cackled like a witch. The others watched her uncertain as to what was so funny. She didn't have the words or the energy to explain the irony of that card to them.

“Even I know who that card is and I've only met him once.” Said Julie squeezing her girlfriend’s ac, on one of their early dates Jules had walked her home from the beach and dropped her off outside Pines’ Pawns where Filbrick had snapped at his daughter for blocking the doorway.

Filbrick Pines provided structure the same way a hurricane provided ventilation. It worked, but at what cost? Having one parent who was truthful to the point of cruelty and the other lying out her ass at all times was not exactly a conducive environment for a little girl to grow up in, but Shermaine Pines soaked up her parents quirks and  foibles like a sponge and came out of adolescence knowing how to fight, how to lie and how to wield the truth like a flaming sword leaving people trembling in your wake. Life in the Pines Household was a game of survival of the fittest and make no mistake, Shermy was going to fucking _win_.

* * *

“I better go home, Jules.” Sherm said into the other woman’s neck.

It was later in the evening now and the shadows were growing long. The other friend, the prodigal Benji had returned as promised with the cigarettes, and he lay in Kurt’s lap smoking while the others curled up around Lori and Clara’s tiny tv set watching _West Side Story_ on VHS.

Julie furrowed her brow and curled her arms tighter around Shermy’s waist, she glanced at the wall clock.

“It's only just gone six, are you not having fun?”

Shermy shook her head, defensive. “I am! I just need to make a stop somewhere on the way home, is all.”

“Aww, can't you wait another hour?”

“No it has to be before sundown.”

“What, did your folks give you a curfew or something?

“Not exactly.” Shermy didn’t meet her girlfriend’s eyes.

“Then what’s so important?”

“It's no big deal, I just have to visit my brother’s grave.” She said it in the same blasé singsong tone of voice as she’d been talking in.

If she made it a joke maybe she wouldn't make a scene or feel sorry for her. She didn't know.

 Sometimes she felt she was just hopeless at speaking to other girls.

Julie’s teasing face dissolved instantly.

 “What?” she said turning ashen.

“Everything hunky-dory over there, lovebirds?” Said Benji from across the room.

Shermy gave him a thumbs up.

“Jules it's fine.  I didn't want to bring the mood down. But it’s the anniversary today and I oughta visit him. I want to, even.

“I thought you said your brother lived in Oregon?

“Yeah, That's Ford. Stanley was his twin.”

Julie paled even more, she was the youngest of four and she was very close to her brother, Samson. No doubt she was thinking of him.

 “Oh god, oh shit. Sherm, you should have said something.” she whispered stroking a thumb across Shermy’s cheek.

“No, honestly its fine. I wouldn’t even have remembered if my Ma hadn't said something. It’s just its five years ago today”

“Do you want me to come with you?  Is that- is that allowed?”

“Sure it is, but you don't have to come. Stay here with your friends and get a ride home later with Kurt.” Shermy propped herself upright, keeping her voice low as not to block out the movie.

“I know but I feel bad letting you go off by yourself on the way home especially with all this.”

Shermy smiled, grateful. “It’s up to you, Jules. I can manage fine.”

Julie kissed her, one feathery press of lips against lips and then a quick peck on her nose.

“I know you can _manage_ , babe, but you shouldn't have to.”                                                            

“Thanks, Jules. It’s good of you to offer, but I think I should go alone, clear my head a bit.”

“Of course, Sherm. You will call me, though? When you get home?”

She nodded, “Of Course I will.”

* * *

 

The Cemetary was as calm and as peaceful as she remembered it being, she came here time time every year and it never felt anything but serene here with the manicured flowered and the tree lined walkway, the rows of raised marble headstones and the sound of cicadas in the trees above.

 She came to a stop in front of one headstone in particular, and she slowed to a stop, her throat closing already.

The breeze shifted the longer patches of grass brushing around her ankles. There wasn’t another soul in sight.

“Hey Stanley, It’s just me, don't get up.” She chuckled at her own lame joke, turning over a smooth pebble in her hands. “‘nother year, huh?”

Her brother didn’t answer.

“It’s been a crazy one too. I don’t know if you this, but you’re an uncle now. I have a little boy. Name’s Isaac. Isaac Stan Pines. I named him for both of you. He’s nearly four months old, mom’s looking after him at home. She misses you a lot. She lit your candle this morning, so if you or any part of you is anywhere I hope it’s at home with her.”

She rolled the sleeves of her blouse up a bit, uncomfortable. She picked some leaves off her borther’s grave.

“Uh, what else, I've been to see Ford. Its several months passed now.  I don't know if he's okay or not, it's hard to tell. I think he blames himself for you not being here. I don't know if you know that, or if you can see us. Mom pretends she believes in spirits and stuff but if she really did she wouldn’t be so devastated or so lonely.

Ma’s well, health-wise anyway. I worry about her a lot though. She seems to drown anything resembling a problem in lies and gin.

I know she still loves Pop, I mean they're still living together aren't they? Though while I can't see them splitting up, I don't think she will ever truly forgive him for what he did to you. I don't think Ford will either, he's so different now. I can't detect any trace of the nerdy quiet guy he used to be.”

She took a slow deep breath in, her chest aching.

 “Things have changed so much, Stanley.” Her voice cracked, “I don't know how to keep up with everything, one moment I'm a mother I'm responsible for Isaac's safety and wellbeing and then the next minute I get to act my age with my girlfriend and her friends and now I'm here staring death in the face.”

Shermy shook her head to herself.

“I'm _seventeen_ in two weeks, Stanley. I'll be the age you were when they kicked you out and I know _nothing_ about life in the real world.

I'm like a baby in a trench coat. I don't know how you managed to get by because right now I feel like I'm playing house with life or death consequences and I hate it.

I dunno what else to tell ya, brother. I’m doing high school correspondence until I can catch up with the work I missed, I should be able to graduate next year.

Mom said you did the same thing, I didn’t know you’d finished high school. Mind you I guess I don’t really know that much about you.”

She squeezed the stone with all her might. “I miss you, though. I do miss ya Stanley. Everyday.”

She stumbled her way through a whispered _Kiddush_ , and left the stone, warm now from the heat of her living hands, resting on top her brother’s tombstone.

The breeze that rustled the trees lining the cemetery was warm and smelled sweet, like honeysuckles. As she headed down the cemetery pathway to back to the parking lot, the wind cooled the droplets that ran down her cheeks.

Shermy wiped at her tears enough for her to see. Then she re-tied her ponytail, put her helmet back on and climbed on to her bike, the engine revving.

The summer air was sweet but mild. Her son and her parents needed her back at home tonight.

It was still light out but above her in the clear blue sky she could see the faint ghosts of stars, at a guess she placed them as part of Ursa Major, but there weren’t enough stars visible in this light for her to find Polaris.

But it didn’t matter, she needed no directions north.

There was a white candle burning in the window of Pines’ Pawns, guiding her home.


	10. Age 14: The Essay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in her life Shermy won something by her merits alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda short and sweet, it's the middle of exam week for me so I'm kind of stressed out, but i'm taking a break from academic stuff to edit and post this.The essay was surprisingly difficult to write since I haven't done creative writing essay for school for at least five years and I wanted it to sound age and style appropriate for a 14 yo girl. Shermy is interesting as a kiddo she's not really found her footing in the word, so she's kind of conflicting in personality she's a lot like both of her brothers but she's also quite separate from them too. Idk she's my favourite non-canon character to write.
> 
> I referred to this chapter in a flashback in chapter 9, with Filbrick's react to Shermy's essay. Filbrick doesn't know how to react in a positive way really I feel like his own parents were probably very distant themselves, especially as the timeline means Fil would have been of fighting age to be in WW2, I head-canon in this he was injured as in the war as a young man and due to chemical damage to his eyes he wears sunglasses all the time (not a fan of the bill parallels but hey). He's still a dick to his kids and wife though. As for Opal, well I really love Mama Pines she deserved so much better than she got and this fic doesn't make things easier on her, poor woman.
> 
> (The Soundtrack for this chapter is: [Wrapped in Piano Strings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Kb7kic-AUc) and [The Moon is Down ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASO-W3KZJsE)by Radical Face and [Blood by the Middle East](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7SSC3ex-bA))

It couldn't have come at a better time.

Mr Tadbolt had picked on her to answer a question in Fourth period Math and they both knew she'd been staring out the window, watching the rain outside.

There was the crackle of static form the PA system. The teacher paused mid-question, expectantly.

“Shermaine Pines to the Principal’s office. Shermaine Pines to the Principal’s office.”

There was a soft wave of oohing that ebbed over the class, the way it always did when someone got called out of class. Tadbolt frowned slightly  like he was going to make a comment but he thought better of it and nodded at her turning around  to pick on somebody else instead.

“Sherm, whaddya do now?” hissed Elena, her best friend, who had been painting her nails white with corrector fluid and now was staring at her with a look of bemusement. 

Shermy shrugged unbothered, stuffing her pencil case in her bag.

“I haven’t done nothin’ this time. Cover for me if I’m late ta English?”

Her friend nodded,

“Yeah, I’ll save you a seat. Don’t get expelled, yeah?”

“ _Thanks_ , Lena.”

Tadbolt's yes were on them again.

“Miss Pines, Miss Gagliardi this is a math class, not a hair salon. Take your gossip elsewhere.”

“Oh eat a dick, tadpole.” Shermy muttered under her breath, but loud enough for other students to hear. It earned her a series of soft snickers that rolled outwards through the room like ripples in a rock pool.

“What was that, Shermaine?”

 She bit back the smuggest possible smirk and chewed on the skin inside her cheek.

“Oh, Nothin’. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr Tadbolt, I’m needed elsewhere.” And with a mock curtsy that was probably pushing her luck, she left the classroom at a brisk power-walk speed. In the hallway she broke into a jog and bounded headfirst into a skinny bespectacled boy wearing a hall monitor’s badge.

He made a noise of disgust.

“Shermy no running in the halls, I’m telling ya every time I see you.”

“Ugh, Neil. Give me a break already. Didn’t you hear I’ve been summoned? I’m a dead girl walking.”

“I heard, and you’re not walking are ya? That’s my point.”

“Yeah and now I’m late cause I’m talking to your nerd ass. _Ingenious_ Neil, you’re really savin’ the world here.”

The boy pulled a face. “Oh fuck off, Pines.”

She blew him a kiss and flipped him off with both hands at the same time. Neil ignored her and went back to patrolling the halls.

Down the hallways she headed, then into the waiting room for the principal’s office, there was no one there however, and the secretary was out.  

Shermy straightened her shirt collar peeking through her sweater, brushed her hair out with her fingers and knocked on the office door.

The woman who opened the door was terrifyingly familiar.

“Ma?” Her heart stopped, real ingrained fear coursing through her veins, she took a step back, images of a teenaged brother she’d only seen photos of flashing in her mind.

She held up her hands in her own defense. “Whatever they say, Ma, I didn’t do it!” her voice sounded scared and childish.

Her mother crossed her hands across her chest and raised an amused over-plucked brow.

 “Oh really?” she smirked.

The principal smiled wanly. “It’s not that kind of meeting, Shermaine. Please take a seat.”

“What’s that mean then, not that kinda meeting?” she took the free chair next to her mother.

Her hands bunched into fists around her the cuffs of sweater sleeves. She squeezed the squishy knitted fabric. The wool was a deep orange colour, like the fall leaves outside.

“Watch your tone, Shermy.” Her mother warned, lips smacking together. Her daughter dutifully shut her trap.

“We’re just waiting one more.” explained the  principal.

Shermy turned to look at her mother.

“Is Pop coming?” she asked, struggling to keep the fear from her voice.

“Sorry, bubba, he’s caught up with a customer right now. You’ll have to make do with lil old me,”

“O-Okay?” Maybe this was for a good thing after all, she was sure if she’d fucked up spectacularly her father would want in on the admonishment.

“Shermy! Good to see you again, dear.” The woman who arrived in the doorway was a cheery curvy lady in her mid-thirties with white teeth that flashed bright against rich brown skin. Shermy recognised her with a noise of surprise.

“Mrs C?” she glanced the clock, it was still fourth period, she wasn't due in English for another half hour.

She reached out and gave Shermy a reassuring squeeze on the arm. She liked Mrs Carson, if you got on her good side she was a sunshiny sweetheart of a woman, but if you crossed her or the students that she liked you were marked for death and she’d come for your snarky ass with detentions and a wit like a razor blade.

Apart from her own mother maybe, Mrs Carson was simultaneously the most vicious and loveable person Shermy had ever met and that was a persona she could get behind.

The teacher turned to Opal smiling.

“You must be Shermy’s mother, Belinda Carson, I’m your daughter’s English teacher.”

“Opal Pines, I remember you from the parent-teacher meeting. Nice ta see ya  again, English is little Sherm’s favourite subject.”

“Ugh, Ma…” ‘Little Sherm’ let out a nasal groan. “Don’t be weird.”

Her mother gave her a look, “I’m not bein’ weird I’m tellin’ the truth.”

 _I doubt it_ , thought Shermy, though she knew better than to say it aloud.

The principal cleared his throat.

“Now Mrs Pines let’s cut to the chase. Belinda here, entered some of your daughter’s work into a national essay competition for young writers”

Opal raised her brows, red lips curving upwards in surprise.

“Wow Shermy, you didn’t think to mention that at all?”

Her daughter shrugged her shoulders.

“I forgot.” she muttered. To be completely honest she hadn't expected her parents to care. They were both busy people with a lot on their plates So she had just forgot about it put it away in her head with her other interests, she'd told her friends she’d entered and that was it.

She’d only agreed to enter on a whim. That was how she made most of her decisions anyway: blind impulse and boredom.

She was not expecting positive things to come out of a strategy like that. In fact, she wasn’t really expecting anything at all, it was more just she had the impulse control of a magpie on caffeine.

“Did I get a placing?” Maybe she’d get a gift certificate, or some cash.

They needed the money, no one had been calling for readings recently, and the shop only brought in so much.

“Shermy, they select three pieces of writing, one from each of the topics that year.”

“Yeah, you said somethin’ like that.”

“Your essay won its category.” Explained her teacher, with a curve of her lips.

The information took a while to pierce Shermy’s brain. “What?” she said, face blank.

“She won?!” asked Opal, voice getting shrill with excitement.

Mrs Carson shifted in her seat. “Out of about ten thousand other entries, Mrs Pines. Your daughter’s essay won” she smiled even wider than before. 

Shermy raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think it was any good.’

“Now, now. No need for modesty.” The Principal smiled. “This is quite a commendation.”

Shermy wasn’t being modest she’d written the essay in class for a grade. Mrs C had thought it a creative take on the prompt and asked if she could enter it. She’d had a free period, it wasn’t production season so she didn’t have any clubs to go to, so on a whim Sherm had said yes.

She was hardly a writer. This was probably some kind of weird misunderstanding.

“When do I get to read this masterpiece, then eh?”

Shermy shifted uncomfortably.  “Oh Mom, you don't wanna read that now.” She said looking off into the distance. Why did she have to choose _that_ topic?

“Why not? Can't I be proud of my daughter?” she asked giving her a stern look. “You should be proud of yourself, too bubby. You don't get enough credit.”

“It's just its…um...” she looked at Mrs Carson for input.

“I think Shermy means the topic might be personal to your family." the teacher added, still smiling. 

“Oh, I see.” She smiled thin-lipped. “Honestly, honey, don't worry about me, I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle.”

* * *

 

_ Seeing Ghosts  _

_By Shermaine Pines, Glass Shard High School, New Jersey._

_Do you believe in ghosts? I do. Not the kind that haunt old civil war battlefields or dilapidated mansions. I’m talking about ghosts that haunt people. The old woman who lives on the corner of my street, I see her walking her dogs on my way to school every morning, she's haunted. I can feel it the way she looks at me when we cross each other in the street. She sees me, I see her. The dogs sniff my shoes. Neither of us say ‘Good Morning’ we both know, the morning doesn’t have to be good it's just a morning. Her ghost brushes its fingers through my hair. It hums a sad tune through her lips that makes my skin prickle. We repeat this every morning. Here in New Jersey the town I live in isn't that old but we have our fair share of hauntings. The man who sleeps outside the arcade, I know a ghost sleeps by him too.   Old Violet, who runs the grocery store in town, she's got several. The children run down the aisles playing tag, the old man stands by keeping watch over her._

_How do I know about this? I'm no psychic, I’m just haunted too. I have been since I was little. My ghost’s name is Stanley. He used to be my brother. We’ve never spoken but sometimes I hear a phrase in my mother’s voice and I know it's him. He's not a real ghost, at least, not in the way the movies show them. I can’t talk to him.  I can only see him in photos and sometimes in my face in the mirror, or when my parents turn away to pick something up, Stanley creases my father's brow or bites at my mother's lip. I know he's there. I know it's him.  He never scares me, because ghosts aren't here to makes us scared, they're here to make us remember. My grandmother used to scare me when I visited her. She was always so full of anger and she slept with a loaded revolver by her bed. I was a five year old child when she died, I never stopped back then to think why, why was she so angry? Why did she sleep with a gun? Who was she afraid of? Now I know my history and I know there was a time when she needed that gun. I still think of her sometimes when I go to bed at night and I'm so grateful that I'm not afraid. I'm so grateful that she lived to be angry._

_You see, the ghosts aren’t here to remind us to be afraid, they're here to remind us to keep living. So when I'm waiting at the bus stop and Stanley smiles through my reflection or when the woman with the dogs whistles her eerie little tune I remember, I am alive and I am protected. I am not alone._

* * *

 

Her mother was sitting curled up in the window seat when Sherm got home from school. It was just before four but she already had large a glass of red wine in her hand. She swirled it as she stared out the window. Her face, which had been slathered in makeup earlier smoky eyes red lips and all, was now bare as a baby’s. Her eyes, brown and almond shaped, sat sharp above her cheekbones. Her lips thin and pale on their own.

“Come ‘ere, Shermy.” She oozed with a grin. “Do I get a hug, my little Shakespeare?”

Shermy snorted, putting her school bag down.  “I take it you read my essay then?”

Her mother nodded gesturing to where her paper lay on the living room table.

“Is it ok?” she asked, nervous all of a sudden, a board of essay judges from out of state was one thing. The people in the essay were the ones she gave a shit about.

“ _Okay ?_  Oh Shermy, darl. You're a regular Hemingway! You should be churning poems out by the bucket load! That’s how good you are!” Opal spread her arms open wide for a hug and Shermy crossed the room to cuddle up with her on the window seat, like she used to do when she could still fit in her mother’s lap while she worked.

Opal put her wine glass on the window sill and wrapped her bony arms around her daughter, her bangles clinking together she smelt of rose perfume and sandalwood, her hair hung loose around her shoulders like a shroud.

“It wasn't too…” Shermy paused trailing off searching for words, her head leant in the crook of her mother’s arm. “Too…ugh… I don’t know, too sad? Too personal?”

Opal’s lips twitched and her eyes grew cloudy. She shook her head.

“He was your brother too, Sherm. You don't have to earn the right to grieve him, not matter how Stanford may feel ‘bout that, you're part of the family too, kiddo.”

Shermy hesitated, thinking about the other brother she hadn't seen in three years. He was a memory to her now too, a name written in cursive in the front of a book, and a grief-tinged memory from their brother’s funeral.

Did her mother think that was the reason Ford didn't call?

She shifted her weight from her mother, moving back against the opposite side of the window her. She crossed her legs, her mother sipped her wine. Both women looked at each other.

“I was gonna mention him, but I thought adding twins into the equation would made it confusing for the reader.”

Her mother smiled, lips crimson with wine.

“Hell hon, it was confusing for us too, sometimes. Especially when they'd switch glasses and clothes to prank us. At one point your father took to calling them both Stan to make it easier, but really that just made everything more difficult."

Opal laughed, a husky crinkly-eyed chuckle that made her look twenty years younger, like the version of her from the engagement photo that hung on the landing. Shermy didn't remember the last time she’d seen her mother like that.

“I'm glad you liked it, Ma. I didn't want it to upset ya.”

Opal shook her head. “You didn’t upset me honey. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Mrs C said they might publish me in the paper, and there’s some kind of award ceremony for the top essays.”

“Really!?” her mother’s voice grew nasally shrill. “Well wait til ya father gets off work, he needs to hear about this too y’know!”

Shermy smiled to herself, for the first time in a while she was proud of something she’d done.

Stanford’s shadow of academic achievement wasn’t looming over her, and it was something she was good at, she enjoyed writing, even  if it was for school.

She felt good.


	11. Age 20: The Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shermy Pines is getting married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I'm back from exams and my brain is functioning in a slightly easier to parse manner. I'm hoping this chapter is up to scratch because I'm coming down with a post-exam cold but hey it's time for a wedding! First an important thing I need to say! I have fan art for this fic! I got a beautiful commission from the amazingly talented Carlie [ghostfiish ](http://ghostfiish.tumblr.com/post/133176968725/flat-color-commission-for-trustme-im-a-pirate-of)of Shermy and Stanley, set not long after this chapter so please, please check it out [here](http://trustme-im-a-pirate.tumblr.com/post/133177037057/ghostfiish-flat-color-commission-for) if you want to know what Shermy looks like (She's kind of a cross between Mabel and Ma Pines and I love her very much).  
> Just a reminder Stanford in this chapter = Stanley as usual.
> 
> Shermy and David's procession song was [God Only Knows by the Beach Boys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkPy18xW1j8) because i'm cheesy as hell.
> 
> The song Stanley and Sherm are dancing to is ['These Arms of Mine' by Otis Redding](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUaO50nWnvg) which imo is the no.1 slow dance song for weddings, I swear?
> 
> The other soundtrack tracks for this chapter are: [Venus by Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFTs2K8rOTs), [First Day of my Life by Bright Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwFS69nA-1w) and [Each Coming Night by Iron & Wine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viXMXo1aG-Q)

_September 21 st 1990, San Francisco, CA._

If Shermy had to sit still any longer she was going to start punching things.

She scrunched up her bare face in the mirror. She hadn’t even had her makeup done yet and here she was already considering running for the hills.

“Karen, please let me move, it’s been over an hour I can’t feel my ass no more.”

Her cousin tutted yanking another strand of chestnut brown hair and holding it taut before applying the hot curler.

“Patience, honey. I’m putting the last curler in as we speak then you can move ta your heart’s content.”

Sherm harrumphed. “Ugh, I need a drink.” Her hands were a little unsteady she noticed, closing them into fists.

She glanced around the strange room in a strange house, David’s parents’. There was so much that could go wrong today.

“ _Shermaine_.” Her mother scolded from behind her. “It’s 9 o clock in the morning! That is no time for alcohol.”

Shermy rolled her eyes. “Really mom, really?” she shot her mother a look of disbelief. “You’re really going to try and moral high ground me on this the day of your daughter’s wedding?’

Opal snorted, throwing her head back in a laugh at her daughter’s expression.

“Nah, nah, I’m just messing with ya. I have gin in my purse.” She let out another cackle, and pulled out two tiny clear bottles from her bag.  “I stole them from the hotel minibar this morning. “she explained with a wink. “Now,  Elena darlin’, pass me the orange juice before Mrs Chapman and Shayna get back, as far as they know we are a nice respectable family.”

Elena, Shermy’s best friend since high school and maid of honour, burst into laughter from her seat where she’d been stuffing her face with grapes and banana bread while she waited for her nails to dry. With both palms she very carefully passed Opal the jug from the spread of breakfast food David’s mother and sister had set out for the bridal party. Upstairs there was some muffled conversation and footsteps from the groomsmen.

“I hate to break to you, Opal but they’ve met Shermy before so they’re at least _somewhat_ aware of what a crazy cavalcade they’re marrying into.”

Shermy placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Lena, really. I am a delight _._ ”

Her friend snorted again. “You sure are, Sherm.”

“Don’t be rude, you egg. I’m fucking _wonderful_ and you know it.” She refastened her robe which kept coming untied, she was still wearing her pyjamas underneath. There was no way she was getting her dress on this early.

“Shermy, watch ya language.” Opal passed her daughter the glass of gin and juice, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “What is this called again? An Orange Blossom, right?”

Shermy grinned, moving her head, much to her cousin’s vocal frustration. “Ma, you’re amazin’ but it’s my wedding day I should be able to cuss if I want. Isaac’s not here anyway.”

“Yes, about that, we should send someone to go check he hasn’t worn your old man out already.”

“Pop will be fine, he loves being a Zaidie.” Shermy smiled at her own reflection if there was one thing she wasn’t expecting from motherhood was just how happily her stoic emotionally stunted father would take to looking after her son.

Opal grunted. “I know, but Izzy’s a little firecracker and Fil is no spring chicken.”

“Ma, don't worry about them.” Shermy grinned, staring in the mirror as her cousin finished pulling at and curling her hair.  “It's me you should be fussing over.” She posed dramatically.

Karen snorted at that, “Yeah, yeah. I'm all done here, your majesty, budge over now I need to get started on poor neglected Elena over there.”

“Yes poor neglected Elena who’s stuffin her face with cinnamon rolls, I can’t believe that she can stand such cruelty.”

“Mmffh!” said her friend in what might have been indignation, wiping icing from her top lip.

Shermy snickered at her.

“Yeah right back at’cha.”

There came a knock on the door. All four women paused and turned to look in the direction of the sound.

“Who is it?” called Shermy.

A male voice rang out. The accent was East Coast and familiar. “Who’d ya think it is, Richard Nixon?”

Opal snorted, running a hand back through her hair. “He wasn’t invited.” she shot back

The door cracked open a bit. The speaker appeared, already in his suit and tie.

“Fine, fine. It’s boring old Stanford then.” he said with a nervous smile.

Their mother yelped like she'd been branded.

“Fordsy!” She crossed the room like a shot and standing on tiptoes threw her arms around her son’s neck. Ford chuckled.

“Hey, Ma. How you doin?”  He murmured into her hair,

“Let him in, Mom. Don’t just stand there in the doorway like a doofus.”

Opal ignored her daughter. Busy trying to squeeze her son as tight as possible, in the vain hope that if she completely closed the gap she wouldn’t have to let him go.

“Uhh Mom? I can’t breathe no more.” Stanford gasped out, her arms dangerously close to a chokehold.

“Sorry.” She released him a little. “Bubby, I just missed you so much. Thank you for coming.”

“It’s fine, Ma. I missed ya too.” Stanford shuffled in, a little awkwardly. Opal hanging off him like a limpet, her bare feet on top of his shoes, he placed a gloved hand on the small of her back to support her, and took a couple more steps into the room.

“How’s the blushing bride, then?” He grinned over his mother’s shoulder his arms still wrapped around her waist.

Shermy snorted into her orange blossom. “Less of the blushing and more of the pre-drinking.”

Her brother chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

She didn’t say anything just took a large swig from her glass.

“It’s been a while, Shermy-Sherm.”he said, voice nervous.

“Yeah. C’mere idiot.” She buried her face in his grey lapel, it smelt faintly of gunpowder and tobacco she didn’t want to pull away.

Karen harrumphed. “Hey watch, the hair, Stanford, I need to finish setting that!’

“Yeah, hello ta you too, Karen.” He glanced at Elena in the chair.

“Hi, have we met?” he asked.

She shook her head, grinning. “Nope, but I know who _you_ are!’

He smiled, lopsided and goofy. “Who doesn’t?” He held out a gloved hand for her to shake.

“Six fingers?” she asked, surprised.

He shrugged, unbothered. “Yep.”

Elena raised her eyebrows. “Neat.”

“A little miracle that one. Means he’s destined for greatness.” Piped up Opal.

Ford shook his head, smiling to himself. “You can stop with that old fib, Mom. I’m not destined for _anythin'_.”

His mother’s face faltered. Shermy elected to ignore it.

“Ford, this is Elena my best friend since ages ago. Lena this is my idiot brother, Stanford.”

“’M not an idiot, Shermaine.” Her brother said sticking a lip out like a child.

His sister gave him a look. “Huh, well ya sure do act like one.”

“That’s enough you two! No fighting!”

“We’re just kidding, Ma.” Shermy rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, Ma. No harm done.” Her brother backed her up.

Their mother didn’t look convinced

“Hm-hm. Ford honey, your sister’s not quite dressed yet why don’t you go find your father?”

Stanford’s face shifted through a kaleidoscope of expressions before settling on quiet distaste.

“Do I hafta?” he groaned, running a hand back through his hair.

“Izzy’s with him, you could go visit your nephew.” his mother added.

He turned around and grinned at his sister. “Better go get the little one out of the dragon’s den.” He said with a shrug.

Shermy smiled tiredly. “He won’t be that bad, Ford. It’s his daughter’s wedding. Think of it like the in the godfather, today he has to be cordial.”

Her brother sniggered at the comparison.

“I’ll see you at the pre-ceremony then?” He asked shifting his weight from side to side, uncomfortable.

There came a sarcastic snort of laughter.

“Nah, I wasn’t thinking of showing.” His sister snarked.  ”You can sit in the big fancy chair yourself and have the family shower you with praise instead, if you’d like.”

Ford grinned, seeming more at home with the sarcasm and the quick wit.

“I’ll pass if it’s all the same to you, kiddo.” He fired back, smiling.

Opal smacked her lips together, both her children twitched in response.

“Shermy be appreciative! This is a big day for you.” She gave her daughter a look.

Shermy rolled her eyes and downed her gin and juice. “Is it? I _hadn’t noticed_ , really.”

Opal moved to lightly slap her daughter around the ear. “Hey less of the lip, Sherm.”

“Ow, Ma! I’m kidding honestly!”

“I’ll love you ladies to it then.”

“Stanford, wait!” Opal moved to stop him.

“Yeah?” He turned back to look at her.

Opal leaned in to give her son a kiss on the cheek. “Love ya.”

He flustered heat rising to his face.

“Yeah, uh, you too Ma.” he stumbled over his words on his way out.

 _God, what a nerd_ , thought Shermy fondly, as her brother closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Shermy sat in the seat of honour, her skirts fanning out in soft layers of lace and netting.

The corseting in her bodice stabbed her in the boob when she sat down. She shifted her seat for what felt like the thousandth time.

“You doing okay?” Asked Elena to her right. She got up and moved to the table, pouring her a glass of water. “You looked like you need one.”

Sherm took the glass gratefully. She felt like she was melting and it wasn’t all pre-wedding jitters. “Thanks. It’s hot in this thing, I feel like I’m wearing a house with all this support in the skirt.”

Elena grinned “I think you look fantastic Sherm.” She said fondly. “Like a queen.”

“Thanks doll.” She took a sip of water, taking care not to lose all her lipstick. “Have you seen Isaac?”

“Your brother’s got him.”

“Stanford?” Shermy looked around trying to spot him in the throngs of guests.

Well do ya have any other brothers?”

“Not anymore no.”

“What?” Elena’s eyes widened. “Oh _shit. Right_. I’m sorry. Look never mind me, Sherm. They’re over there.” She looked where her friend gestured.

True enough, Ford had his little nephew in his arms and he was listening intently to whatever the child had to say.

Shermy waved them over. Her brother shot her a lopsided smile from across the room.

“Hey there squirt, look here’s you mom and she’s all decked out like a layer cake.” Coming over, Stanford lowered his nephew on to the ground so he could stand, and straightening up he took in his sister in all her bridal glory.  “Wow look at you! Little baby Sherm, you sure clean up nice.”

“You don’t look to shabby yourself nerd. Glad you didn’t bring that awful monkey hat.”

“Monkey?” said Isaac, intrigued. He was three, and rather enraptured with learning about different animals.

“Not a real monkey, little guy.” She told him stroking his chubby cheek. She grinned at her brother. “Just a monkey’s uncle.”

Stanford put a gloved six-fingered hand over his chest.

“Harsh, Shermy. You wound me.”

She snorted. “Pssh, you’ll live Ford, you’ve seen worse.” Her eyes sparkled with a smile but she kept it from her lips,

Ford rubbed at the back of his need, looking awkward.

“Yeah, well. I guess I should get my blessing in now, before they start a line.

His sister shrugged. “Only if you want to, it’s not compulsory.”

Ford leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. The moment stretched out intimate and reverent, Shermy took both his hands in hers and squeezed them. 

“ _Mazel Tov_ , Shermy. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

“Thanks Ford.” She blinked quickly to dissipate any tears before they reached her lashes.

She hadn’t spent three and a half hours in hair and makeup just to fuck it all up now.

Ford reached down and picked up Isaac, propping him up on his hip again. “It’s your turn little Izzy, give your Mom a kiss then.”

The boy held his lips against her cheek for a second and made a smacking nose with his mouth..

 “Mwah.” Said Izzy, who hadn’t quite grasped the concept of cheek kisses yet but he knew the noise.

Shermy little out a giggle. “Thanks little man.”

A few other relatives were starting to line up behind him, taking their conversation as the time to give Shermy their blessings.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony, little sister.” Stanford said readjusting Isaac on his hip.

“I love ya, Ford.” She closed her eyes to say it, because opening them risked her shedding tears.

Her brother flustered again.

“You too, kiddo.” He said, tripping awkwardly around the other guests.

Shermy let them go, and moved her attention on to the next guest in line, her cousin Karen.

 

* * *

 

The guest were seated, the Rabbi was waiting, the Beach Boys started to play over the stereo system.

Shermy Pines took a deep breathe in, soaking in her last minutes as a single woman.

They walked down the aisle together: her and both her parents. They stopped at the wedding canopy,  Shermy squeezed her mother’s arm, and she turned to embrace her briefly before she let her go.

“Thanks, Ma.” she said into her dark hair, that Karen had curled and piled elegantly upon her head. Her mother smelt of roses and sandalwood.

“My little girl, my baby.” Her mother brushed her lips over her daughter's hands.

“Don't cry yet Ma, we haven't even started.” Shermy said with a quiet chuckle. She wiped a tear from her mother’s cheek with a finger. “You’ll ruin your mascara.”

Her mother chuckled wiping her own face.

“Just watch me, bubba.” Opal murmured, going back to her seat next to Ford and Isaac.

Through her veil Shermy turned and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek.

“I love you, Pop.” She said, her voice feathery. She held back her tears with sheer force of will, her veil covered her face so she could risk a tear or two right now but she just didn't want to. Karen had spent ages on her makeup after all. Filbrick squeezed her hands so tightly she thought her fingers might break.

There was a gentle moment that passed between them, her father’s moustache quivered. She couldn't see his eyes beneath his glasses but Shermy was pretty sure he was smiling.

“You too, _motek.”_ Finally Filbrick released her and David moved to take her hand. Her father nodded once to him and moved back to take his seat next to her mother. Opal Pines was already weeping softly. Isaac sat looking bored in her lap and Stanford had wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  Shermy glanced at them, blew her son a kiss and gave Ford a smile. Her brother winked back at her.

“Hey stranger.” She whispered to David as they approached the rabbi together, underneath the _chupah._

Shermy moved to be as close to his side as possible without tripping him up on her dress.

“Hi.” He whispered back grinning at her, a dorky look of wonder on that face she adored.  “Come here often?”

Shermy didn’t bother containing her giggle, her nerves sublimed up into the air and everything just felt right. “Uh, yeah actually. Every Saturday.” She muttered back at him, deadpan, her smile as big and as goofy as his own.

David smiled back at her and she felt it light up the wedding tent they stood under.

“Are you two ready?” the rabbi asked watching their banter with an amused quirk of his brow.

They looked at each other, Shermy squeezed David's hand.

“We are.” they said together.

 

* * *

 

“I'm so glad you came”, she said to her brother, as they danced together slowly to an Otis Redding song.

It was after dinner and speeches, Shermy and David had had their first dance, they’d cut the cake, Opal had put Isaac to bed hours ago. Now the dance floor had opened up, the DJ was playing a slow song, and it seemed Stanford had consumed enough from the open bar to ask his little sister to dance.

They waltzed together, Stanford leading.

He shook his head fondly.  “Oh kiddo, I wouldn't miss this for the world.” He said, smiling at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky.

She shrugged it off. “Still, it means a lot you’re here.”

Her brother tilted his head on the side, smiling. "Did you doubt that I’d come.”

“No”, she lied. Staring him dead in the eyes, unwavering. “I never did.”

They turned around in their waltz, Ford sneaked a glance at their parents table. Their father was away on Isaac duty and Opal was busy chatting away to other guests.

“Ma looks happy, like actually happy. Can’t say the last time I've seen that.” Ford remarked.

Shermy nodded. “She gets on pretty well, with David’s family, I mean she’s at a social situation and everything you know how she _loves_ to play pretend.”

He snorted softly, more of a snuffle than a laugh. “Oh, I sure do.”

“Recently she’s made more of a habit of drinking too much at family things and dragging out all the skeletons. This is definitely an improvement.”

“Oh _Great_.” Her brother’s expression looked how she herself felt about the situation: tired, annoyed but largely unsurprised.

“Yeah, did you know Aunt Rebekah had a DUI? Because Mom did and now _everyone_ knows.”

Stanford laughed self-deprecatingly. “Shit, I hate to think what she says of me.”

“She doesn’t much, Ford. Except that she misses you and that she wishes you’d call.”

His smile faltered. “Oh… Sherm, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you have to apologise to, knucklehead.”

He sighed, evidently deciding it was time to change tunes.

“What else is new in California?”

“Not much. Ma and Pa are talking about moving out here, to be near both of us and Isaac. I dunno if they can afford it but they’re thinking about it at least.”

Ford raised his brows. “Good for them, guess they’ll finally get out of that dump like they wanted."

Shermy frowned “It’s not a dump, Ford. Well maybe it is to you, but it’s their home. I grew up there I mean it’s shitty sure but loved that place.”

Ford smiled, it was a sad smile, nostalgic and thoughtful. He changed the subject.

 “You’ve changed since I last saw ya, I can’t believe that scared little sixteen year old is even the same person as you now.”

His sister's features softened majorly. “A lot can happen in four years, you know.  You’ve been…away.”

“Oh, Shermy-Sherm.” Her brother sighed.

The song reached its chorus, Stanford spun her around in his arms then caught her again.

She smiled, tired and hungry for happy endings.

A fairy-tale ending to a storybook day: The prodigal son returns and begs for his family’s forgiveness. All is well, the end.

_Yeah, right._

Stanford stumbled over his apologies.

He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry kid. I know I said I wouldn't leave ya again but the last few years got away from me.”

She leaned her head against her brother’s chest, she could feel his heartbeat above the music. She didn’t say anything just yet. She didn’t yet have anything to say.

He shook his head, she felt it more than saw it, he stroked the skin of her arm.

“I've been a shitty brother.” he said finally.

 _Yeah, you have._ She thought, but she had more sense than to let the words reach her tongue.

“That’s not the whole of it, not completely, Ford. I mean, I didn't expect you to keep your promise”

“You didn't?” he sounded almost hurt, that his character was somehow under attack.

She shook her head. This wasn’t a fairy-tale, Ford was not asking to be forgiven, and his absence wasn’t a hole easily filled in with fake promises and concrete. Besides, no matter what happened between them Stanley would still be dead.

Anyway, Shermaine Pines was a fucking adult, not some a princess in a story. She was a tired young woman with sore feet. She’d come to California from small-town New Jersey and she’d had fight to get to where she was standing, in her big brother’s arms slow dancing on the night of her wedding. She wasn’t about to place all her happiness in the hands of someone she hardly knew. Even _if_ he was her brother.

“I've grown up with Ma for a moral compass, Ford.” She said with an exasperated laugh.

 “Forgive me if I don't put my heart in pinkie promises, no more.”

The corner of her brother’s lips twitched. “Well, yeah, I guess but nevertheless I meant to keep it.”

“I'm sure you did, but we're both adults we've both got busy lives, I’m not even asking you to be a huge part of mine, I’m just asking for a phone call now and then, you don’t have to drive ten and a half hours or whatever up to come hold my hand whenever I need it.” She took a deep breath in, her face in his lapel.

“-just call me now and then. Actually try to talk to your mother once in a while. I mean I know things change, it’s natural to grow apart, but I just want you to fuckin’ try to be a part of this family.”

In any other situation this could have been an argument, a bust-up, a family row, but it wasn’t.

This was how the Pines’ sibling dealt with their shit, if they needed to talk it out in the middle of a slow song on a semi-crowded dance floor surrounded by friends and family members then that’s where they were gonna talk it out

“I’m here ain’t I?” he said, expression pained. “I _am_ trying.”

Shermy smiled but it was tinged with sadness, she wasn't so entirely wrapped up in her own elation that she hadn't thought about her brother's feelings.

 “But you don’t wanna be here.”

Ford stiffened in her arms. The song was almost over, she hugged her brother closer taking shuffling steps together, in a tiny box waltz.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but didn't seem to have a response

 “Says who?” he said pressed against her shoulder, uncomfortable.

“You, Stanford. Your body language. I _can_ tell, ya know. I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m just…” he made a series of elaborate hand gestures that meant nothing. “This social stuff is hard for me, kiddo. I don’t mind when it’s just us or us and Mom and Pops. But this- everyone keeps treatin’ me like some kinda ghost. I mean it’s been ten years almost. I just wanna move on from it, Sherm. I _know_ he’s not here I don’t need reminding”

“I know, Fordy, and I’m sorry. People are dumb. Most of the cousins and extended family see it as the family soap opera they can turn on and off at will.” She grimaced at the analogy

“They don’t have to live in the cracks like we do. They don’t have to live with the blow back, Dad’s gambling, Ma’s crying jags, our…"

She paused. "Well, our whatever it is we have to cope: booze, isolation and a punching tree.”

“Punching tree?” He raised his bushy brows in amusement,

Shermy grinned. “Behind our new house, there’s this big tree I’ve started to go punch when I’m pissed off.”

Ford chuckled from deep in his throat the sound came out warm and oaky.

“Ain’t we a mess?” He smiled. The song had reached its conclusion, they moved to the side to let other dancers take their place.

Shermy hugged her brother round the neck once more, breathing him in. Ford smelt so familiar and safe.

She’d missed this. Just being close enough to hug him. She’d missed him _so fucking much_.

They pulled away, Ford hurriedly cleared his throat of any lumps, and Shermy pressed her fingers under her eyes lightly as to not smudge her makeup any more.

“I should go check on David, last I saw of him he was stuck talking to Aunt Selma and that is not a fate I’d wish on anyone especially not my own husband.” The word tasted like sugar on her tongue, her _husband_. She was _married_ to her favourite person in the world. “That witch will talk him to death, all of it lies no doubt.”

 “He makes you happy doesn’t he?” Said Stanford as she’d turned to go. Spotting David and by his glasses falling down his nose and his curly brown mop of hair. A polite look of fake interest crossed with mild alarm by the old woman’s story he was listened to.

Shermy’s face split into a grin, the full brightness honey-eyed, teeth-showing Shermy Pines-trademarked grin. There was a rush in her veins, the childish love-struck dopamine that still came whenever she glanced at David.

“The happiest I’ve ever felt.” She said, and she really meant it.

Ford nodded satisfied. “Good, I’m happy for both of ya, Shermy. You deserve good things.”

“Thanks, big brother, I could say the same to you.” She leaned in and kissed him once on the cheek.

Today was a good day.


	12. Interlude 3: Reiteration (Mabel and Dipper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at the same time as Ch. 4. 'Rumination'. It's the night after the events of NWHS/ATOTS and Mabel can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even the most understanding parents can't prevent the Pines' family issues from reaching the 3rd generation, and Laura and Isaac genuinely want the best for the twins but in requesting they be left out of the big family secret that was Stanley (for their own good considering what happened to Sam and Merm) they ensured the eventual reveal would hurt Mabel all that more. 
> 
> This is meant to be a combined Mabel and Dipper chapter even if it;s in MAbel's POV because I don't think Dipper feels the parallels between the two sets of twins so keenly, otherwise he'd be more aware of how and why his sister acts like she does in DaMVTF (I won't be referencing any of the weirdmageddon plot in this series just in foreshadowing, the final chapter will be set after the show so the last two episodes won't affect it in theory)
> 
> "There is sadness in the family, Dad told me  
> Let's not speak of it, it only brings us down  
> And there's sadness in the DNA, I've known it  
> I've felt it in the pavements of this town."
> 
> (Chapter Soundtrack: [Next to me by Sleeping at last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=564xDWyxmD8), [Dad told me by Hello Saferide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZGyZB2e-7A) and [Agape by Bear's Dean](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1MmYVcDyMs))

_“You don't think we’ll turn out like Stan and Ford do you?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I mean, they used to be best friends, but then they got all stupid. Can you promise me you won't get stupid?”_

_“I'm not stupider than you, dumdum.”_

_“Goodnight, stupid.”_

_“Night, stupid.”_

Mabel was awake. There were tears in her eyes but she didn't know who they were for, the twins cleaved apart by time and space and ancient mistakes or for the twins forged in adventure and companionship? The twins who were as thick as thieves yet never sure if that was close enough to last.

 Dipper was asleep. She heard him mumbling about Ford under his breath. She looked over, he was rolled on his side an arm hung over the bed.

“Heya Dipdop?”, she whispered.

He didn't stir.

“I love you, stupid.” She said to the dark. She tried closing her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Mabel hurtled down the hall into the cheery yellow bedroom she shared with her twin.

“Dipper? Mommy, says we’re going now! Come on brobro, where are you?”

Their bedroom was seemingly empty. She checked under both beds. Nothing. There was a soft sniffling coming through the slats in their closet door. She found her twin hiding inside sitting on the floor his new floral dress, the same one as she wore, stretched over his knees, tears staining his chubby cheeks.

“What are you doing in here? We need to be going!”

“Dipper held up a small lock of brown hair. The scissors still in his hand. He wiped at his nose with back of his hand.

“I don't wanna...” he said scrunching up his tiny face. “This stupid thing.  I'm not wearing it. C’mon Mabel help me out!”  

Mabel just nodded. She knew.

“Take it off! I'll do something with it.” She moved out of the closet into their room and threw some trousers in her twin’s direction. Mabel scoured the room checking her options. She'd been playing with her stuffed toys before lunch and she’d left an unfinished juice box on the side table. Perfect.

“Give me the dress, and put those pants on. Don't cut your hair anymore though just tie it up for now, you can get it cut properly later.”

Dipper looked at her like she was the rising sun. “Thanks Mabel.”

“Don't mention it, brobro. What are siblings for?” She placed some construction paper underneath the dress to prevent staining the carpet and she squeezed the remnants of the juice box over the pale printed fabric.

Their mother’s footsteps echoed down the hall. Mabel slam dunked the juice box into the wastebasket.

“Twins! C’mon we’ll be late! Mabel honey where’s your sister?”

“Getting changed, I got grape juice on Dipper’s dress on accident.”

Dipper came out of the walk in closet buttoning up his shirt, hair tied up and out of his face in a messy bun.

Laura Pines was not a stupid woman, she knew how the twins functioned and she wanted to be as understanding as possible, but she was still coming around to this whole ‘boy’ thing, they were seven. How could they be so sure of something so grown up? She sighed. Now wasn't the time for debating it either. She looked between her children. Dipper was smiling, wiping away snot and tears. Mabel was glowing with righteous protective sibling anger. Daring her mother to call her out on it. She let them win this time.

“Mabel go wash your hands. Dip, sweetheart, give me that dress it needs to go in to soak. Go get in the car, we don't want to make your Nonna wait for us now do we?”

Dipper shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips.

* * *

 

Mabel pushed back the covers, she couldn't sleep like this. Everything that had happened that day, she couldn't so easily push that aside. Thoughts buzzed round her head like the summer mosquitoes. what if she had pushed the button? Would Ford be gone forever then? The thought that Mabel came dangerously close to crushing her beloved Grunkle’s dreams and damning his twin to an early grave. It made her stomach turned loop-the-loop and it tied her guts into knots. Then there was the whole issue of Ford himself, he seemed nice enough, if a bit of a nerd, but Grunkle Stan acted like he hated him, or maybe the real issues lay the other way around. Grunkle Stan told them that they used to be the best of friends just like her and Dipper.

_Could that mean?_

 Mabel’s chest clenched tight.

_Well it didn't bear thinking about._

Mabel squeezed her tiny hands to fists. No, that would never happen to them. _It couldn't._ She wouldn't let it. She pulled the pink key sweater she'd worn that day over her nightshirt. She scooped up a sleeping Waddles and swaddled him in her arms like a baby. Then, with a passing glance at her sleeping twin, Mabel slipped out into the landing.

The Grunkles had stopped arguing about an hour ago, no doubt worn out by the day's events and headed to their respective bedrooms. She hoped they get along better in the morning, maybe this would all just blow over and they could all have pancakes and play mini golf.

She headed through her and Dipper’s not so secret hatch that led to the roof. She put the pig down beside her after sternly warning him to keep away from the edges. Mabel looked up at the night sky. It was so quiet.

“Look at the stars, Waddles! Aren't they clear here?"

The pig did not respond.

She and Dipper often came up to the roof to stargaze when they couldn't sleep. A habit they’d learnt from their Dad who’d in turn taken their family traditions of insomniac stargazing and twin hot chocolate from his own mother and sisters respectively. It was her favourite tradition. She had a lot of fond memories of late night stargazing.

* * *

 

Mabel sat wrapped in a blanket and a jacket of her Dad’s way too big for her tiny frame. It was just after eleven on a clear night, the twins should have been in bed hours ago, but ten-year-old Mabel had had a nightmare, a bad one brought on by a particularly scary episode of the X-files her brother had been watching earlier that day. Now they were bundled up together on their parents’ second floor balcony as their Dad fiddled with the telescope lens. Even though she wasn’t scared anymore, Dipper held her hand. A wordless apology for indirectly giving her bad dreams.

“Come on you two, who wants the first go? Mabel?” Isaac Pines peered over at his children.

She shook her head and nodded at her twin.

“You go first, Dip.” She said softly, her voice still quiet and uncertain. She was sleepy but on edge and she didn’t want to go back to bed.

Dipper, hovered unsure whether to move or insist she go first. After a while he moved over and put an eye against the viewfinder.

“Everything’s so clear tonight.” He breathed, wonder in his voice. Mabel smiled to herself and cuddled her father’s jacket tighter around her shoulders.

“A good place to start for looking at constellations would probably be Orion’s belt, you can find it by three stars close together in a straight line.

“Hey look Mabel, it's you!” her brother exclaimed.

Mabel’s heavy eyelids blinked awake at “Me?” she frowned, confused.   
Isaac frowned too, Dipper moved aside so their father could take look through the telescope.

“Huh. He’s found Polaris, honey, like Nonna's nickname.” her father smiled, and leant over to ruffle his son's hair. "Nice going, Dip."

Her grandmother’s nickname for her didn’t stick like Dipper’s had but it was still a cute little joke within the family.

“Can I have a look, Dad?” she asked, voice raspy with sleep.

Isaac nodded, and beckoned her over.

“Sure thing. Come over here and look through.” He said.

Mabel looked into the lens at the selection of bright little pinpricks of light. They were so far away.

She stared at them as a whole, like a connect-the-dots puzzle she needed to solve. Below the brightest star she could see a familiar shape, she stared at it harder imagining the lines beginning to form between the points.

Mabel gasped. She looked up grinning. “Hey Dad! I can see the Big Dipper too!”

“Yeah, you usually find them together.” Isaac explained holding the telescope still for her. "Ursa Major points north towards Polaris."

Mabel's eyes grew huge.

"Like twin stars?” She turned to grin at her brother, she held up a hand for a high five.

“Well, I guess so.” Said their father, shrugging. 

“Twin Stars.”  Dipper echoed and he clapped his hand against hers, scooting up closer to his sister so he could take another turn to look through the telescope.

Mabel snuggled up close to him, she didn’t feel afraid anymore.

She felt safe out here under the stars.

* * *

 

Fate wasn’t a real thing Mabel believed in, sure by all means she loved that romantic movie star-crossed lovers stuff  in movies and puppet shows, but applied to her life here, outside of her own fantasy land  she wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t want to think about History repeating itself.

No, no, no.  Mabel Laura Pines was her own independent woman. She was not fated to do anything, just like Dipper was not fated to cause anything. Their relationship was not doomed to fail, they loved each other and they were like peas in a pod. Ursa Major and Polaris. Dip and Mabel. That was all that mattered.

_Wasn’t it?_

Then why was Mabel awake this late, sitting out alone under the stars?

Why were their tears threatening to spill from her eyes again, why was her head filled with trepidation and doubt and memories of twin aunts who used to do everything together, and now didn’t speak the other’s name.

 That’s who she’d thought of this evening.

When the smoke cleared, when her family was safe, when storied were told. Mabel had been thinking about the rest of the family. Her twin aunts who used to do everything as a unit, who’d had their _bat mitzvah_ together, who’d used to babysit young Mabel and Dipper as a team.

Then there was her Dad, and her Nonna Shermy who’d always happily shared tidbits of Pines family history but never once mentioned she had more than one older brother, twin brothers even. Did she not know? Or did she think Stanley dead in a car crash like they’d found in the newspaper clipping?

Mabel leaned over and lying face down she wrapped her arms around Waddles, burying her face against the pig’s skin.  

“I really am just being stupid about this, right Waddles?”

The pig snuffled sympathetically.

“The thing is, I don't know who I’d be without him. I mean I'd still be Mabel, but Mabel is a twin. Take him away and you take away part of me.”

* * *

 

“Tell me what I did to wrong her, Izzy.” Her aunt Samantha sighed, glancing over at Mabel’s father, her glasses were slipping down her nose, her expression dejected, her long hair tied back. She picked up the soldering iron again and continued to join the wiring in the circuit board she was working on. Turning her frustration on to the task at hand. In the background her elder brother was helping her dismantle an ancient 90s monitor they’d had around the house for ages.

Mabel looked up at her from where she sat on the living room floor happily playing with her unicorns. She was listening to the adults chatter, not particularly paying them much attention. She liked her aunt and she didn’t see her often because she was usually so busy with school. Recently Sam had started dying her brown hair bright colours. Right now it was a shocking pink. Mabel was in love with her aunt’s hair. It looked like a cotton candy ponytail streaming down her back.

Isaac sighed, set down his screwdriver and moved over to lean a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder, trying not to knock her hands busy at work.

He released her shoulder and ran his hand back through his hair, the same curly texture and deep cool brown as both his children.

“I would if I could, Tesla.” He said, using her old family nickname. “But I honestly don't think you've done anything wrong. Mom thinks she's just distancing herself prematurely, so she can do something on her own for once.”

“I know and I want her to be happy but Chicago is so far away and I don't know how to be alone I've never been alone all my life. I can't just switch into singleton mode, like that. She's knows big changes screw me over, and so she knows how hard this is for me, and she won't even _talk_ about it.” Samantha let out a low growl in the back of her throat. Her hands were opening and clenching again over and over to calm herself down. She sighed. “I feel like I'm screwing everything up just by existing the way I am.”

Her brother frowned. “Don't talk like that Sam. Focus on the _good things_ , you're going to the best technical school in the country. I mean isn't that amazing? Who else can get a place at West Coast Tech straight out of high school like that? I'd have killed for that at seventeen!"

“You had other things to worry about at my age.” his sister murmured, her eyes tracked to Mabel.

Isaac glanced briefly at his daughter playing on the floor and grinned.

“Yeah, two tiny surprise things, still everything turned out alright for me and Laura.” He picked a long strand of pink hair from the fabric of Sam's shirt.  “It’ll all pan out fine for you too, okay bubsy?”

“God, I hope so.” Sam said with a forced laugh, a fat tear rolled down her cheek, she let out a shaky breath to mask a sob. “I hope so, I hope so.” She whispered over and over to herself, sniffling.

Isaac’s lips twitched sympathetically. He put a hand on her shoulder again.

“Come on don’t Mom out on me, Tesla. Do you need a hug?” He asked.

Sam nodded, she leaned her head against her brother’s chest. Her head fit neatly under his chin. Isaac wrapped his arms tight around her.

“It will be alright, Sam.” He murmured. “She’ll snap out of it.”

Mabel, still sat playing on the floor, had long since turned her attention from her unicorn adventures and was listening to the adults’ conversation with growing levels of distress.

“Daddy what's wrong?” she asked, her own voice cracking.

Isaac smiled over his little sister’s shoulder.

 “Nothing’s wrong, _shterndel_." he said, voice surprisingly calm. " Why don't you go play in your room or with your brother, Hm?”

Mabel scrunched up her little face. “He’s playing video games and he doesn't want me to help him with it ‘cause I kept winning.”

Her aunt barked out a sudden laugh.

“Ha! That sounds about right”! Sam pulled away from the hug, wiping at her cheeks.

 “Sounds like Dip’s the sore loser in your set.” She paused and gave her brother a side-eyed look “Just like Merm.” She whispered.

Isaac sighed and shook his head. “Sam, don’t project on my kids, yeah? It’s bad enough putting up with Mom.” He paused, looking over at his daughter again. “But seriously sweetie, your aunt and I have grown-up stuff to talk about, are you sure you don’t wanna go hang in Dipper’s room again?”

Mabel nodded, not because she wanted to but she knew there was stuff going on she didn’t want to think about, stuff like siblings fighting. She set about gathering up her toys.

“Go ask to play with your brother, Mabel. If you let him win some of the time I’m sure he’ll feel better about it.

Mabel hugged a toy unicorn to her heart. She’d let Dipper win every game if it meant they’d never ever fight again.

* * *

 

She awoke to someone shaking her shoulder. The open sky above her was lightening and  almost devoid of stars.

The Big Dipper edged into her view. Only now it was a freckly pink and covered by a curl of brown hair. Her big Dipper. She closed her eyes again, only to be shaken again.

“Hey! Mabel?” said a familiar voice.

She startled upwards.

“Wha-? Who?” Her twin was regarding her with a mixture of concern and amusement. 

“It’s just me stupid. I got up to pee and you weren’t in bed, I just wanted to check you’re okay.”

Mabel stretched her back clicking loudly. "I couldn’t sleep so I went up here to look at the stars.”

Dipper chuckled, running a hand though his curls. “Mabel, _it’s 4am_.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“What!  Aw man, I must have fallen asleep up here.” She groaned “That explains why my arms and legs are so itchy.

As if to illustrate her point she scratched at the new welts on her arm.

Dipper scrunched up his nose. “Gross. But don’t worry, I’ve got some cream in our room. It stops the itching.”

Mabel’s chest felt lighter, less like she was being emotionally squeezed like a lemon.

“Thanks, Nerdbird. You’re the best.” she said with a full-watt Mabel smile.

Her brother grinned back. “Yeah, I _am_ pretty great aren’t I?” He hesitated. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah, It was such a crazy day. It just needed to think.”

“Evidently your giant brain got overworked and conked out on you.”

“Shut up, doofus.” She retorted, waking Waddles, beside her.

Dipper blew a raspberry. “No, you.”

Mabel examined the new raised line of bug lines along her arms

“Eugh.” She groaned again, still scratching. “Itchy.”

Her brother shook his head. “Come downstairs, Mabel.  I gotcha back.”

“-and I got your back too!” She held the trapdoor open for him to climb down first.

_History didn’t have to repeat, right?_


	13. Age 16 part 3: The Phonecall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shermy's stay in Gravity Falls is tied up with a phonecall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! on the home stretch with the first chapter of the last quarter! Unlike the other quarters the layout if this one is gonna be different going , Chapter, Chapter, Interlude, Final Chapter. This chapter ties up the Gravity Falls plot for Shermy, an event that was too important to be confined to one chapter. The Pines family finally gets some got old fashion communication occurring and "Stanford" is a good brother.
> 
> Arc words from Cough it Out: "I don't care if you're not sorry, I forgive you and with or without your support I will continue. What I'm trying to say is you never know what you've been through. Do you pause and cough it out?"
> 
> Soundtrack:
> 
> [Cough It Out- The Front Bottoms ,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZMUmQ-lhec)[](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZMUmQ-lhec)[Accidents- The One AM Radio ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHcHEt-5gL4),[Judgement- Half Moon Run ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uJeDHB3bYg)

The morning the call came, was the morning of the fourth day Shermy had been in Oregon. It started just like other mornings with breakfast and lazy banter. It was a Sunday so the Shack didn’t open til the afternoon. No tourists showed up round these parts on a Sunday morning, Stanford told her.

They were washing up the plates from breakfast together, Stanford washing and Shermy drying. When the former noticed his sister staring somewhat absently at his hands in their rubber gloves.

"Come on, out with it, here comes the fuckin' finger questions."

“No, it's not that. It's just why d’you always wear gloves? Even in the summer?”

“Do you know how hard it is to find six-fingered gloves, Shermy? I’ll get my money’s worth outta the ones I have otherwise I make do like this.” He raised his rubber-gloved right hand that looked a little squashed to be fitting in the five-fingered glove.

Shermy gave him a side-eyed unimpressed glare. Ford grinned and went back to scrubbing. She lived with a compulsive liar all her life, she could spot a fib a mile off.

“You’re _misdirecting_ , nerdlord, and not very cleverly, might I add.” She said, unimpressed.

Stanford sighed rubbing at his nose where his glasses pinched while trying not to wipe dish water onto the lenses.

“Ugh, Sherm.  Ya ever hear of sodium hydroxide…um what else do they call it … uh lye or caustic soda?”

His sister shrugged turning her attention back to the plate she was drying.

“Yeah sure, we use it in chemistry sometimes.”

“Not in very high concentrations, you don’t, that stuff will eat right through ya skin. That’s why they make sure you always wear gloves in school labs. Chemical burns are _gross._ Look kid, long story short you don’t _wanna_ see my hands.”

Shermy pulled a face, images of high school chem safety posters running through her mind.

“ _Eugh Gross, Ford_. Did that hurt?”

Ford snorted, and gave her a ‘what do _you_ think?’ eyebrow waggle.

“Just a little, yeah. It was years ago now, but I don’t really wanna feel more self-conscious about them then I already was, you feel?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Shermy resolved to leave the matter alone and went back to drying the dishes.

 

* * *

 

They were sitting together in the living room, not an hour later when the phone rang. Shermy flinched. She did whenever the phone rang, it sent cold waves of fear down her back that one day it was going to be her parents.

 Of course there was a possibility that they might never ring, a tiny and unlikely but nevertheless real possibility. Filbrick Pines was as stubborn as to not want admit parental failure again, not to his favourite son, and her mother? Well she really didn’t like to bother Ford at home. It was really all down to how worried they were about their youngest child. Shermy didn’t see herself as ranking very highly in her parents eyes right now. Apart from the school paper there was nothing she’d been doing before this whole fiasco that her parents would deem worthwhile, none of her interests ticked the boxes or filled the coffers, and really in her heart she was sure that was what they cared about.

“Hello, Stanford Pines speaking.”

There was a pause as the other person spoke in rapid-fire sentences, from what Shermy could make out.

“Who is this?” Stanford asked.

Her brother’s face paled, he shot upright in his armchair. Shermy glanced over at him, turning the tv down. Something unsettling turning butter in her gut.

“Ma?” he repeated, sounding a little startled. “What’s up?

Shermy froze, hit the mute button and pulled her knees up to her chest. She edged closer to Ford so she could hear her mother’s voice.

“Shermy's missing, Stanford. She left home almost a week ago, left a note, packed a bag. The police can't do anything, and your father’s beside himself. She didn't even say _why_.” Opal’s voice cracked audibly, Shermy’s rib cage constricted.

“Oh god, _Stanford_. I'm so _worried_ , I mean…my little girl. What did I do wrong? Have you heard or seen from her at all? I can't do this all over again, I promised, I promised he won't take her from me. He won’t, He can’t, I _swear_.”

Shermy could taste bile in her throat, she clenched and unclenched her hands repetitively.

Ford cleared his throat.

“Oh-Uh- Okay. Ma, I need you to sit down and take a deep breath alright?” He said with another quick glance at his sister. She nodded her consent.

“Alright. alright. I'm sittin’ already.” Opal still managed to express the same amount of beleaguered annoyance she usually did, even when she was obviously distraught.

Ford closed his eyes. “She's okay. She’s safe, she's here with me, and she’s alive.” He said. “Focus on those first.”

There was a banshee-like shriek on the other end of the phone. Shermy hugged her arms tighter around herself and pulled her sweater over her knees.

“ **What**?! Oh my god, oh my god Ford let me speak to her!” said Opal.

“No, Mom. I promised I'd talk to you first in her defense”

Her mother grunted in frustration. “Defense from what?”

“Being kicked out at sixteen and forced to live on the streets because of _one stupid_ mistake.”

There was a silence than a soft wet noise like a muffled sob. A shaking breathy inhale of air.

“Ford… she breathed. “ _Ford,_ bubby. I know we did him wrong. I will take the guilt of what we did to your brother to my grave, don’t let me lose out on another child, for God’s sake.”

Shermy tugged on her brother’s shirt sleeve. “Let me talk to her, Ford, please.”

 He handed her the receiver.

“Ma it's me. I'm okay. I'm sorry. I was so scared and so alone, please don’t take it out on Stanford” She paused taking a deep steadying breath to slow herself down. Her hands were shaking. “He’s been so good to me. He says I can stay if him, If-if you-“she stumbled over her words and trailed off, crying into her brother’s shirt as he bent down from his armchair to prop her up.

“Please-please don’t kick me out Ma. I fucked up. I fucked up real bad but I can’t do this alone. Her thin frame began to shake, quite violently. “Ma… please... I’m so scared, Mommy” Her hand was trembling so hard she couldn’t keep the receiver to her ear.

She felt like baby, a pathetic wailing thing. She had so much to express but no air in her lungs with which to do so.

Stan took the phone from his sister’s shaking hand his other arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. She leaned against him shaking with sobs.

This wasn’t going anything like any of the situations she’d imagined it playing out like in her head. She hadn’t predicted there’d be so much pathetic crying on her part.

“Ma, its Stanford again.” Ford was saying. “Shermy’s not in any position to talk about this now. She can stay with me as long as she needs or go home whenever she’s ready but you need to promise me she’s not in any danger there.”

There was a loud muffled stream of speech from her mother, but Shermy wasn’t trying to make it out.

Stanford sighed, his eyes tracked to his sister “Sherm sweetie, you need to let her know what’s going on. Can you do that or would you like me to?’

“No..I-I will.” She took the receiver from him clearing her throat constantly, trying to rid herself of a lump that wouldn’t budge. Her throat hurt, her eyes stung. She needed a hug.

“M-mom. I’m- Oh, god- Mom. I’m pregnant.” The news got easier to pretend not to care about each time she said it but the primal fear the words set off in her gut that never went away.

Her mother, laughed of all things, laughed like it was some kind of tired punchline.

“What? You’re kidding. Shermy you can’t be serious?” When her daughter only answered with more sobbing, the questions got more panicked and fast-paced “How-How far along? What-What are you gonna do?

There was a long pause filled in with soft crying “No, Ma. Yes. Ten weeks I think. I’m keeping it.”

It wasn’t that cold but Stanford took the quilt from the other armchair and wrapped it around his sobbing sister’s shoulders like a shock blanket. He sat himself down on the floor with her resting back on him, his arms wrapped tight around her like a life preserver. She relaxed a little.

Shermy if this is some kinda sick joke you better-“

She spluttered. “N-no, of course this ain’t a fuckin joke why do you think I’m so upset?’

“Oh god, honey. My little girl. How did we … Look just come home Sherm, we’ll work this mess out.”

“You mean it? Y-you’re not gonna change your mind later and make me live on the street with a tiny baby at seventeen? Are ya?”

Her mother’s breath caught on the line.

“ _Excuse me_? Shermaine Bathsheba Pines how could you ask me such a thing?”

"Oh come off it, Ma. You know perfectly well why and how. That’s been a real fuckin possibility, Mom. Hanging over me my _entire_ life. You’re not good enough? You’re not up to the smarty-pants PhD level of Stanford? Then end you end up dying alone and penniless at twenty-nine like Stanley. That’s been my options, all my life, Mom and it’s you and Pop’s fault, no one else!”

She felt Stanford behind her tense up, noticeably. He buried his face into the back of his baby sister’s shoulder and vowed to never let her go. Opal was crying audibly on the other line. They were a mess the lot of them. Shermy turned her attention back to her mother. She sounded old, her voice was fragile and easily crushable like she was made of glass.

“What do you want me to do, Shermy? What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, baby. I really am. But sorry won’t bring ya brother back.” She made a vocal noise of disgust “I’ll live with that pain until the day I die, honey. Please don’t make me lose you too.”

Shermy faltered because what did you say to that? What could you say? She remembered she was supposed to be angry, but it was hard to be when her mother sounded so crestfallen. She laid out her demands.

 “Well, _good_ , you finally listen to me. I wanna stay here with Stanford for some time, just to clear my head. We both need some space until we can sort ourselves out, come together for the good of this kid. I just need time, Ma. Time and a promise that Dad won’t eat me alive.”

Her mother sighed, still sniffling audibly. Then she heard her voice set firm.

“Okay, I’ll talk to him for you, _bubbele_. Now, put your brother on the phone.”

Ford took the phone again from her when she held it out to him. He wiped the receiver on his shirt. “Yeah?” he said, voice stiff. Everyone else was crumbling around him, someone needed to be stronger. Shermy could at appreciate that.

She shrunk back onto the living room carpet on her side. Her brother lay a reassuring hand on the small of her back. Her head was spinning, so was her stomach. She was alive it was a Sunday afternoon, things were going to pan out okay.

“Yeah well some things are more important than school.” Ford was saying. “Plus they have correspondence classes, we’ll work something out.”

“That’s real rich coming from you, Stanford.” Shermy heard her mother’s voice shrill and terse as ever ringing down the line.

Shermy spluttered, laughing through her tears in the background.  Her brother coughed, a little surprised. He shook his head to himself sadly. “Okay, I deserved that.”

“I’ll take care of her, Ma. Despite the situation we’ve had a good time here so far. She just needs some headspace, okay?”

There was a pause.

 “Yeah” said her brother in reply to whatever question their mother asked. “That’s okay.” his voice was cracking and squeaking like a boy scout “I uh…I love you too, Mom and please don’t beat yourself up about this too hard. You know, Stanley wouldn’t want that for ya,” His eyes crinkled up in a smile behind his glasses. There was a pause. “Yeah, we’ll give you a ring tomorrow, I promise.” He hung up the phone and sunk back down on to the carpet without a word.

“Why’d you say that?” Shermy asked. “-about Stanley, I mean.”

Ford sighed resting his chin on her shoulder, his arms still wrapped around her in a half hug half Heimlich kind of position. Shermy felt Ford loosen his grip but she didn’t wriggle away from his touch with her usual teenage brand of awkward sibling distance. She was tired and she didn’t have the emotional energy to pretend she didn’t give a fuck about her big brother when all recent evidence spoke to the contrary.

Ford chuckled, it sounded hollow and old. “It’s been fifteen fucking years, Sherm. She’s exhausted.  Give her a break.”

His sister didn’t have a snappy comeback to that.

“Ok. I’ll try.” She said. There was another long pause. She needed to fill in the silence.

“Did you wanna go for burgers for lunch?” she said as she pulled away from him, stretching.

“We’ve just had breakfast, Shermaine.”

“Yeah well, I don’t know about you but I feel like I just ran half a dozen marathons.”

“You make an impressive case, Ms Pines.” Her brother snorted.

Shermy laughed, and it didn’t feel forced, just tired. “I do my best.”


	14. Age 40: The Award

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are another step closer towards the end. This chapter was really hard to write in places, just because It took a lot more re-structuring and re-writing than I expected. Here we tie up some more of Stanley's loose ends and show how his relationship progressed to where it would be in the series canon. (although not canon canon because Shermie Pines is implied to be a dead man) We also see a bit more of the other Pines family members. Mabel's first flashback from chapter 12 segues on to here hence why Dipper shows up in a shirt and trousers. Filbrick is 86 here, Stan is 57, Shermy is obviously 40, Sam is 18, and the twins are 7. The Robert F Kennedy Award is an actual journalism award but It didn't run in 2010 and I honestly don't know enough about journalism to know how the awards are handed out and the such like so it's largely conjecture. Also a brief mention of some other characters we've seen in this fic.
> 
> As for the next chapters I would like to have them both up and posted before the 22nd when I have to go off and do family stuff and will have no time for writing until early January. But yeah I do hope to have this fic finished by New Year's, the next two chapters are already both half-written there's a ton of editing to do. Both chapters will include Stanford and Stanley. The final chapter isn't finished but currently stands at 8.5k! So even after I cut it down I expect it to be a long one. There's a lot of stuff to be sorted out. 
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> [Eugene- Sufjan Stevens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMKP2Vcc6wA),  [Great American Novel- Max Jury](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCOE1NyRoLM),  [Two Strangers- Sea Wolf](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9xI8U7ysdk)

_February 2010. San Francisco, California_

(Shermy)

Her brother came back into her life like rain ran back into the sea. After the incident at their mother’s funeral Stanford went back to Oregon with nothing but a broken nose, gentle words that he didn’t blame his sister, mixed with promises of calls that history had taught her better than to expect. Only this time Ford did call, and he kept calling regularly. He called her every other week to see how she was doing, how the kids were and so on, until Shermy told him to come up for Hanukkah to spend more time with her and the family, on the first Winter holidays without Opal Pines.

That was more than ten years ago now, thirteen in fact, Shermy still lit Jahrzeit candles for her mother every September. Ford didn’t call that often, but he did call. He remembered her kids’ birthdays, and the grandkids? God, did that man love those little munchkins. Shermy would have to fight him for who got the first hugs at family events. Stanford was there, and the reality was much rougher and much more tangible than any idle daydream of her seventeen-year-old self.

When she got the nomination letter, it had been a Tuesday morning. She was working from home, sorting the mail in fit of procrastination to distract her from the half written article glaring accusingly bright and white from her open Word Document on the desktop.

The letter came on fancy monogrammed stationery in between utility bills and junk mail. Her heart broke out into gymnastics when she read the letters RJK. She knew of the Robert J Kennedy Prize sure but never thought she’d see a letter with that name stamped on to it, addressed to Ms Shermaine Chapman-Pines. She’d been proud of her work but she didn’t write for recognition, she wrote because she loved it, because she wanted to spread information. The recognition was just the icing on the cake to her.

The article had been her best, her most widely acclaimed piece of work by far. A front page piece on the lives of homeless youth in San Francisco. She’d spent months on it working with a not-for-profit group in town whose focus was giving aid and shelter to homeless queer and trans youth helping out with the shelters and youth groups in between interviews. She’d met some amazing kids there and learned a lot. She’d put her soul into this article.

The first person she wanted to tell was her father, a quiet and long-buried pride welled up from somewhere deep in her gut: the self-satisfaction of the wronged. Filbrick Pines had told her that her writing would amount to nothing. Yet here she was, in her own house in San Francisco surrounded by walls and desks full of evidence of the family and the life she had built with her own hands. Her spike of gratified validation was quickly numbed however by the mental image of who her father was now. Elderly, widowed and almost completely blind in both eyes, Filbrick was hardly a worthy foe and at 86, definitely not the stubborn hot-headed man from her youth. She stood to gain nothing from telling him, save some half-hearted congratulations that had little weight to who Shermy was today.

 David was the second person she wanted to tell because they shared everything. Plus, he’d been there for all the drama, the tears and the 4am cups of coffee that had gone into the writing process, but he’d told her that morning he’d be in meetings all day so she sent a text.

The next person she thought of was Stanford and she smiled to herself, crossing the room to grab the phone.

* * *

_May 2010_

 

Shermy flicked through the cue cards of her acceptance speech, she paced back and forth through the living room like she was ballroom dancing.

_One-Two-Three, Flick.  One-Two-Three, Turn._

Her phone beeped in her purse, she stopped mid-pace to grab it eagerly and thumb through her messages.  

“Laura says they’re on the way, everyone!” She called out.

Her brother on her sofa grunted a noise to indicate he’d heard her. He was peering through a pink and yellow scrapbook little Mabel had made (with help from her grandmother) last time they came to stay. He dusted a little glitter off his suit pants and turned the page.

Shermy resumed her box waltz of anxiety.

_One-Two-Three, Flick.  One-Two-Three, Turn._

Stanford grumbled. “Slow it down, Shermy-Sherm, you’ll pace a hole in the ground.”

“Shut up, asshole.” She quipped without looking up.  “When was the last time you had to make a speech?”

“I dunno. your wedding probably. No-Isaac’s Bar Mitzvah.”

She laughed. “That was over ten years ago, Stanford. While you’ve been off being a mysterious mountain man, some of us have been having real careers.”

“Aw Sherm, you’re so cute when you’re nervous.”

“Oh, eat a dick, Ford.” She muttered, holding back a smile.

Her brother barked out a laugh.

“Alright, pack it in you two, remember who the adults are here.” Said David coming out of the kitchen.

Stanford put a hand on his chest in a pantomime of distress.

“God Chapman, I hope it’s not us.” He said, gasping dramatically. His brother-in-law just rolled his eyes.

Shermy ignored him, turning her attention to her husband instead.

“Are you ready, hon?” She asked, moving to unwrinkle his collar.

David nodded. “Yeah, is this tie okay with this shirt?”

“Yeah, you look fine darling.” said Shermy.

“Thanks, pine nut.”

Stan sniggered. “Yeah, thanks pine nut.”

Shermy glared at her brother, cheeks reddening. “Oh don’t you start.”

He grinned back. “Hey I drove ten hours to come see my illustrious baby sister, I can't tease her a little?”

“Hmph. Not in my house ya can’t.”

“The award-winning reporter Shermy-Sherm.” He crowed, grinning. He gestured through the air with his hands.  “Shermaine Chapman-Pines, decorated journalist.”

His sister socked him in the shoulder. He rubbed at it reflexively.  

“Ya sure you’re not just here to see the twins?” she asked, the corners of her mouth drawing up into a smile.

“Okay _okay_ , so I’m glad to see my great niece and nephew, is that a crime?”

Shermy hesitated. “Nephew, huh?” she said, straining to keep her voice light.

“Oh don’t make a debate out of it Shermy, he told me he’s a boy. He’s a boy. It’s not quantum mechanics.”

“No, I-I _agree_ with you, actually. I’m just not sure Laura and Isaac are 100% there yet, y’know?”

“Well that’s not Dipper’s fault, he’s what? Seven?”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want to rush them is all.  Don’t make a scene about it, Stanford that’s all I’m asking.”

“Long as everyone calls him Dipper, I won’t. I mean we’re all just a big happy family here in _Chez Pines._ ”

Shermy rolled her eyes. “Your sarcasm just grows with age, don’t it?”

“Thanks for noticing honey, I’ve been watering it.”

“ _Ford_.” Shermy’s tone was warning enough.

“Okay, okay. You know I’m just kiddin’ kiddo.”

“Where’s Sam?” Piped up David from across the room where he was grabbing his keys.

Shermy sighed, looking back over her shoulder to strain her eyes to see down the hallway.

“Sammy, honey how ya doin’?” she yelled.

“I'm coming, Ma. I’m coming.” The girl called out coming down the hall into view buttoning her waistcoat. Her hair was dyed a dark red currently and she wore it up in a bun.

“Looking very dapper today, Tesla.” Said Stanford.

The girl attempted a smile. “Thanks, Uncle Stan. “

“Your sister not coming today?” he asked.

Shermy shook her head.

Her daughter made a low guttural growl of disgust. “I don't know and to be completely honest I don't care either.”

 Shermy made the dreaded Noise, it came out a tired Yiddish groan, “Ehh, _Sam_.”

"What? it's true Ma, not my fault she can't be bothered to show. Or that she's off in _Chicago_ of _all_ places."

“Miriam did try very hard to come, darling. Just between coursework and labs she couldn’t fit the time in.”

The girl hugged her arms around her chest and scowled. “A likely excuse.”

Her mother sighed. “Drop it, Samantha. I know you two are fighting but it's not doing anyone any favours. You two are better than this.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Mom. But we really aren’t.” Sam glanced briefly at her uncle. “I guess it’s in the genes.” She said, eyes dropping to the floor.

Stanford bristled at first but then pulled himself together, and he shrugged, looking sullen. “Not really my field, kiddo.” He muttered. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of Course she isn’t. Don’t be so negative both of you. I don’t want you dragging the kiddiewinks down with your misery.” Shermy’s voice brooked no nonsense. Her eyes were fierce, twin warning signs.

The others didn’t put up a fuss.

“Yes, Mom.” Said Samantha looking miserable.

Ford nodded “Alright, Sherm. I hear ya.”

* * *

 

The Piedmont Pines arrived not long after, Dipper was dressed in a shirt and slacks hanging off his sister’s arm. Mabel was beaming, glowing with righteous sibling anger. Laura Pines muttered something about a grape juice incident and that was left as that.

There was a rather complicated game of musical chairs as they tried to figure out who was going in what car to the hotel where the ceremony would take place. Samantha ended up going with her brother, Laura and the kids. Shermy, David and Stanford took Shermy’s car, stopping to pick up Filbrick on the way.

The event itself looked rather fancy, the hall was decked out in tables and chairs.

“Look at this, Sherm.” Filbrick was saying, straining his failing eyes through his dark glasses. “All this fuss just for my little girl.”

Shermy laughed, and nudged David in the ribs. “Does this make up for all the nights I drove you round the bend by being up and typing until 6am?”  
David smiled and snaked an arm around his wife’s waist.

“Hm, We’ll have to see, won’t we?” He said, eyes sparkling back at her.

“No pressure or anything there, kid.” Said Stanford, winking at his sister.

“You’re telling me! thought I was coming here to accept an award, not face the Spanish Inquisition.” She said with a chuckle.

“Oh look that must be our table, there’s Sammy and the kids.” Shermy pointed across the room for the others to see.

There was a round table covered in a white with a card reading ‘Shermaine Pines & Family.’ Laura, Samantha and the youngest Pines twins were already seated there. Isaac was taking a photo of the placard on his phone when they got there.

“Look at all this, Ma.” He said, smirking.  “Pretty Fancy.” Shermy kissed his cheek.

“Just what I deserve, honey.” She said with a laugh.

“Is this party just for Nonna?” asked Mabel looking around with huge doe eyes.

Shermy shook her head “Not just me, bubby. There are other award categories too.” She explained glancing around to see if any members of her team were there yet.

* * *

_(Stanley)_

After the ceremony itself was over every one was moving around as drinks service started.

Stanley followed the tide of people to where Shermy was standing alone by the buffet table, occasionally being stopped by passers-by to receive congratulations. Stanley crossed the room to get close to her.

“Hey, there’s my award-winning sister! _Mazel Tov_!” He leant in kissed her, his stubble pressing against her soft cheek. She hugged him back. Her hands had stopped shaking now, she looked a lot more relaxed than she had done on the stage. She stood to the side as other guests passed them, some milling around taking photos. Others standing chatting, holding drinks.

At their table Isaac was talking to his grandfather, quite animatedly, Laura sat beside him watching Samantha playing with the twins. Stanley tried to ignore the familiar chest clench he felt when he saw the first smile out of his niece all evening, as Dipper pulled out a bunch of trading cards from his trouser pocket to show her.

Shermy was watching, him watching them. She squeezed his forearm lightly and smiled, her brown eyes shone slightly dewy in the light.

“Thanks, Fordy. I didn’t ramble too much did I?” she asked, the leftover nerves still audible in her voice.

He shook his head and grinned wide-mouthed and chipper. “No, you were fine. You got everyone names right too. Didn’t leave anyone else that I can think of.”  
“Well, that’s a relief.” She smiled, glancing over at Isaac and Filbrick still in conversation. She lowered her voice.  

“Dad’s not causing you too much trouble is he? It honestly didn’t cross my mind that you guys might feel awkward sitting together. I should have thought of it, I’m sorry."

“No it’s no trouble really, Izzy is looking out for me. Plus, I have seen him more recently. He doesn’t give me any trouble about not talking, ‘cause he doesn’t call neither. He’s kinda mellowed out in his old age, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah that’s one way of putting it.” Said Shermy and her expression faltered. Her brother couldn’t get a read on her but something about their father made her look away, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey Ford?” she asked.

A server came round with a tray of drinks, Shermy took a glass of champagne and sipped at it.

Stanley shook his head when he was offered the tray. He didn't feel like drinking right now. He glanced back at his sister.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Thanks for coming.” She said, looking him straight in the eye.

Stanley shrugged it off rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not this again, Shermy. I’m not gonna up and leave on you again, kid. You were right about me all those years ago, I want to be in this family I need to make an effort, so here I am, making an effort."

She hugged him again, holding her drink out of the way.

You know I appreciate it,” She paused.  “I forgot to ask ya before… How’s things with you? How’s the Shack and Jesús?

Her brother smiled. “Business is good and Soos is the same as ever, I offered him a full time job as repairman for once he graduates. He’s a good kid.” He shrugged. “Nothing particularly new with me, I’m just getting greyer.”

“You and my both, big brother.” She said self-consciously patting her fluffy brown bob. “I just dye mine.”

Stanley grinned, he loved this kid. Even though at forty he could hardly call her a kid anymore.

“Hey Sherm? I uh- I read your article after you called to tell me you were nominated”

“Yeah?” His sister raised her pencilled-in eyebrows. “Give it to me straight, how was it?”

He raised and dropped his shoulder, a half-shrug. “It’s not the kinda thing I usually read but I thought it was really good and I’m not saying that just because you’re my sister. You know me Shermy, I call it like I see it. “

She smiled, “It wasn’t too preachy?”

“Not in my opinion. But what do I know?”

There was a slight awkward pause where neither sibling said anything.

Stanley stumbled over his words trying to fill in the silence.

“Y’know I had these friends in college. It was a lifetime ago now but your article reminded me of them Rosario and Amethyst their names were… a real cute couple and the nicest girls you’d ever meet, real smart both of them. Rosa wanted to go into medicine, Amy I dunno what she wanted to do but I reckon she could sweet talk the old man out of his money if she wanted. They were both homeless when they met, shitty family situations on both sides. Rosa got kicked out at fifteen when she came out, Amy ran away at seventeen. They met our other mutual friend Tony at this LGBT shelter in Colorado somewhere they had their own little family network long before I met them. But the stories they told me, I mean this was back in the seventies and it was scary stuff.”

He glanced quickly at his sister who, to his surprise,  was hanging off his every word, he wrung his gloved hands.

“No one deserves to live like that.  No one, you’re bringing awareness and not in a totally useless way like other journalists because you actually took part in the charity you wrote about, I mean sometimes you’d get people in journalism who just wanna write for exposure, shit like that. Which is fine but can you eat exposure? Does it guarantee you a safe place to sleep? Nope, it’s worth bubkes to the people you’re meant to be helping.”

Stanley found himself having to reel in his words lest he trip and out himself as the one with first-hand experience of the streets, an idle thought struck him that he was sick of walking on tenterhooks around his sister, but he pushed it away.

He cared much more that she was happy and talking to him than he did for his own conscience. Maybe one day on his deathbed the secret would come out, maybe when the thirty-year cycle came round and he could open the portal to get the real Ford back maybe then he could tell her, but that wasn’t now. Now he had to just wait it out and lie.

Shermy was looking at him, her soft expression reminded him of their mother. “I wonder what his life was like, you know? In those years between when left and when he died.” Her eyes were sad. She didn't need to say his name any more, they just knew.

“Pretty fucking harsh, Shermy. I’m not gonna lie to you. From what little conversation we had before he…you know… it sounded pretty goddamn rough.”

He tried not to think about it too hard, but flashes from that time came to him unbidden. His numerous flop inventions, the fights he got into, one particularly cold winter in Virginia where he almost froze to death in the backseat of his car. Then there was all the crime: Columbia, the prison time, and having to chew his way out of a trunk after being left for dead in some abandoned warehouse in Detroit somewhere.  

"I feel like a terrible sister just thinking about how he was suffering while I grew up safe and warm, unaware of his plight." She stared at the bubbles in her drink, eyes unfocused.

“You’re not a terrible sister, quite the opposite honestly. I don’t _deserve_ you, Shermy. You know, usually people stop trying after someone screws up their second chance. But you, you just kept trying and I can’t for the life of me figure out why? I’m an old con artist, I’ve done nothing but fuck things up for you.”

 _All I do is break things_ , he thought to himself, sticking his gloved hands into his jacket pockets.

She chuckled. “Okay maybe that's true, but you’re my brother. You were there when it mattered for me Stanford, what comes around goes back around.” She smiled, eyes shining. “Besides, things change, Stanford. People change. You have.”

“I’m proud of you, kid. Mom would be too.”

“Thanks, Stanford. I just wish she could be here for this.”

The two siblings embraced a third time and Stanley desperately tried to ignore the prickly thorns that curled like runner vines around his heart.

 The truth would have to out, one day. But not today, not like this.


	15. Interlude 4: Seaside (Stanley and Stanford)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things changed, but there was always a family and a beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is the next chapter! Thank you everyone who's commented so far it's really keeping me going right now! This chapter is another interlude but done in a difference style then the others this one focusing on a theme rather than character. I hope you all are having a good holiday season so far! This fic is gonna be over by Christmas, and sad as I am to see Shermy and co. go I'm looking forward to seeing a satisfactory end to all these loose ties in their relationships.
> 
> Summer Skeletons is a perfect song for young Stan Twins and I listened to it incessantly while writing their part of this chapter. Important lyrics to consider:
> 
> We were sun-burned and shoeless kids  
> It was the dead of July  
> We were skippin' stones in the failing light  
> I smelled the fire place  
> Although we were miles away  
> We were infinite  
> There was no time in those days
> 
> When all we knew wasn't stolen  
> There was nothing real to lose  
> When our heads were still simple  
> We'd sleep beneath the moon  
> You were something  
> That would always be around  
> When regrets were nowhere to be found"
> 
> The last chapter is almost 100% written but at ~8k it is gonna take a long time for editing. It should be out by this time next week. I found out someone recced this on Tv tropes and I just ???? thank you so much? I will never get over that it's bizarre to me but thank you! 
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> [Summer Skeletons- Radical Face](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odpDfd-lH-I), [Mykonos- Fleet Foxes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSB74LZDNr0), [Seaside- The Kooks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_RZLAxsa8Q)

_**Glass Shard Beach New Jersey 1964. (Stan Twins 11)** _

The wind coming off the sea was salty and sharp, and secretly Ley was cursing himself for not taking a jacket when they'd left this morning but his mother had told him he needed one and Stanley Pines was a stubborn boy, contrary to the point of pigheadedness. He didn't bring the jacket.

“D’ya want mine for a bit?” said Ford, breaking his reverie. Stanley didn't know if his twin had read his mind or if he was just obvious but he shook his head, jaw set. He'd made his bed, as their dad often said, now he was gonna lie in it.

“Nah, ‘s ok.” He pulled his arms up into the sleeves of his t-shirt, hoping that by stretching out the thin striped fabric he'd somehow achieve some warmth.

Ford rolled his little eyes with an expression too old for his face. Unlike his twin he tended to follow their mother’s instructions, and had dressed warm enough for the fall afternoon. Unlike his twin Ford’s pride was more invested in his brain than his liberty. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Stanley’s shoulders.

“Here dummy. We need two people to steady the mast and that's not gonna happen with you shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m not shakin’, Sixer.” Stanley said, his body giving him away by shivering obviously. He pulled the jacket around him, all the same. It was warm and lined with sheepskin. It smelt like Ford.

His brother smiled goofy and lopsided. “Sure you ain't, Ley. Come help me hoist this alright?”

Ford held up the flag the two had made together, from an old pillowcase their mother had given them, Ford had come up with the design and Stanley had done all the hand stitching, his fingers were still pricked from all the times he stabbed himself with the needle by accident.

“Yeah! Let the world know who the Kings are!”

“Ok I’ll hold the mast, d’you wanna pull it up?”

Stanley’s dark eyes grew huge and starry. “Okay!” he said grinning.

He took hold of the ropes and pulled with all his might, the fabric rectangle hoisted up against the grey sky, a dark blue background with the insignia of two hands side by side one with six-fingers the other with five, hand-stitched in white thread.

“That looks neato!” breathed Ford

“Yeah.” Whispered Stanley with a reverence. “We're the best.”

“Hi-six?” asked his brother, little hand raised in wait.

Stanley slapped his hand with his own. “Hi-Six!” he whooped.

“What do we do now?” he asked

“I dunno.” Ford looked back at the boat. “We need to treat the new bits of wood so it’s waterproofed.” He pushed his square frames up his nose. “We probably can’t do that today though.”

Stanley nodded, in agreement. The waterproof varnish was a luxury they hadn’t figure how to get their hands on just yet.

“What’s the time?” he looked his brother, the designated timekeeper. 

Stanford squinted through his thick glasses at his wristwatch.

“Three o clock. But we don’t hafta be home ‘til five for boxing.”

Ley surveyed the stretching expanse of Glass Shard Beach. It was near low tide. The horizon stretched out for what looked like miles until there was any water.

“Wanna go check out the sand dunes?” he asked.

“Yeah!” his twin hesitated “But if we’re going sleddin’, Stan you have to go first this time! You always make me go first and I don’t want to.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Fine, Chicken. I’ll go down the dunes first.”

Ford stuck out his lip slightly. “Ya promise?”

“Yeah-yeah, Sixer. Don’t girl out on me. I promise!”

They ran with the endless bounding energy of children, making the most of their freedom. No school, no teachers, just the Pines twins hurtling towards the distant sandy banks with some old planks of wood and a box of tools.

Stanley could not imagine his life any other way, without Ford his adventures wouldn’t be half as interesting without someone there to share it with. He didn’t doubt his brother felt the same way, because without Stan he’d probably never leave the house camp out in their room with his nerd books and his doodling pads, away from the watchful judging eyes of the other kids and the bullies.

That Summer feeling felt infinite when you were 11, and your brother was your best friend in the world. Even though it was early October the feeling hung on despite the chill in the air, deflected by Ford’s jacket around his shoulders. There was still sand in the cracks of his toes, the air smelt of salt and seaweed. The exhilaration and the sugar in his blood made Stan felt like they could take on anything and they’d win.

In those moments there was nothing they couldn’t do, because they would always stay the same, safe and happy, and together.

 

* * *

 

_**Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey 1975. (Stanford 22, Shermy 4)** _

It was a cold east coast evening, down on the boardwalk. Bundled up like a sumo wrestler, the child stood with her eye to the telescope. Her brother stood behind her a six-fingered hand resting on her shoulder, watching her expression.

“Wassat one called?” Shermy asked waving a stumpy gloved finger around.

Stanford smiled fondly at the girl, he looked up at the stars above them. It was a beautifully clear night despite the lightly falling snow. “Which one? I can’t see where you’re pointing.”

The girl pulled away from the viewfinder rubbing her nose with gloved hands to get some more feeling into it again. “The green One.” She said, covering a tiny yawn. It was late, past her usual bedtime but it was the holidays and her parents were being gracious so she got to spend some time with her big brother.

Ford took a look through the lens, bending his knees to get down to his sister’s level.

“That’s Venus, Shermy. That’s a planet.” He said.

She clapped her little hands together “A Planet? It’s so pretty!”

Ford smiled again at her excitement. “Yeah, you know how Earth is a planet?” Shermy nodded her head.  “Venus is just another planet in our solar system

“Are there _aliens_ there?” she said, with a firm sense of urgency, like she thought that this was the real question, the most important one.

Ford laughed, she looked so serious but she was just so tiny! “Not that we’ve met yet, but to be honest we haven’t even _explored_ Venus yet. It’s gaseous and hard to get to. Maybe they’ll go there in the future. At the moment they're more focused on trying to get a man on the moon, before the Russians.”

His sister looked impressed by that. “Are _you_ gonna get to go to the moon?”

“Me?” He chuckled with a surprised shake of the head. “Nah, I’m just trying to graduate. I’ve got no plans to be an astronaut.”

Shermy looked back through the lens, for a while neither sibling said anything, there was just the icy breeze blowing through their clothes. 

The “Ford, Ford, Fooooord!?”

“What is it, squirt? Don’t thrash about so much now, you’ll hurt the telescope.”

“That star is moving! Is it a shooting star!? IS IT! Do I make a wish?”

“I think it’s just, a satellite, honey.”

The girl pursed her lips in disbelief, a tiny mirror of her mother.

“Well I’m wishing for both of us, just in case.” She said, clenching her eyes tight, little lips moving.

Ford waited for her to finish. “What did you wish for me?” He asked.

Shermy shook her head and raised a finger to her lips. “Uh-uh. I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

Ford grinned, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Spoilsport.”

“Nerdy…Dork butt.” She was four, her comeback skills had yet to reach full maturity.

“Ooh Sherm, look over here!  Ya see that?” Her moved the viewfinder so she could look through it again.

“More stars.” She observed.

“Well, yes. It’s a specific cluster of stars, an asterism if you will, but together they form a constellation called Ursa Major.”

“Ursula? I know her she lives on our street; she has a fluffy cat.”

“No _Ursa_ , it means bear in Latin.”

He might as well have just told her the meaning of life, her face lit up like a firecracker.

“WAIT, THERE ARE BEARS IN SPACE?” she cried in absolute wonder.

“Not actual bears…that we know of.” Ford chuckled to himself. “Constellations are like pictures, connect-the-dot diagrams that people see things in. Sometime long, long ago an astronomer called Ptolemy decided the shape of these stars together formed a bear, and gave it that name.”

Shermy strained her eyes looking through the lens again.

She shrugged her padded shoulders. “I can’t see a bear at all, it jus’ looks like dots ta me.”

“That’s why it’s got another, more common name. ‘The Big Dipper’ see if you look at its closer it kind of looks like a giant soup ladle in the sky.”

“I can see that! Look there’s the handle and there’s the spoony bit!”

“Yeah wanna know something else neat about the Big Dipper?”

“What!?”

“It's a natural compass, the star at the edge of the spoon points upwards to the brightest North polar star, Polaris”

“What's that mean?”

“Well if you're ever lost and need to find North find the Soup ladle and this star here” he pointed to the top rightmost star in the constellation. “will always point your way.”

“Wow!” Her eyes sheened, big and wide.

“It's how explorers have used the stars for centuries, Shermaine.”

The girl looked pensive in the low light, like she was turning the thought over in her head.  Her expression brought a rush of fondness, there was nothing like spreading and sharing information with someone who actually wanted to listen. He thought himself. It made it easier for him to pretend he didn’t feel alienated in his childhood home and it distracted him just enough from the tumultuous tempest of emotion in his head.

“But how do the stars know?” Shermy was asking.

“They don't exactly know, per se. They just point that way and it happens to be North. I mean there's magnetic fields and the suchlike but you don't have to worry about that.” It was difficult in his jumbled network of astronomy knowledge to find the simplest way to explain things to her.

“Hey, Fooord?” She drawled out his name once more.

“Yeah, Sherm?” he glanced at her.

“How come you know about star stuff?”

He shrugged. “Me? I’ve been studying astronomy since I wasn’t much older than you.”   

“What's Astro-Ono-onomy?”

“A fancy word for star stuff.” Said Ford, with a lopsided smile.

Really? Can you teach me?” She asked, earnestly, the night sky reflecting in the brown of her eyes.

“Of course, I can. If you want me to, that is.” He didn’t know how to feel around his sister most of the time, she was a child and he a strung-out nervous adult. Shermaine seemed so undisturbed by the whole Stanley saga all those years ago, though Stanford knew better than to assume the kid was unaffected by it. It would be strange in her shoes, he thought. Ford might as well be a ghost, his own mother treated him as such. How could a child this small know any better?

“Yeah! I want you to!” She stared up at the clear expanse of sky above them. A snowflake landed on her nose and she giggled. Ford felt needed for the first time since he’d gone back home. Ford felt needed and it was a good thing.

* * *

 

_**China Beach, San Francisco, California 1998 (Stanley  45 + Isaac 11 + Chapman-Pines Twins 6)** _

It was a cold winter morning. Well, by Californian standards anyhow, Stan had seen much colder. The salty wind was sharp in on their faces. He sat with his nephew on the hood of his car, pulling his jacket around his shoulders. They watched the twins hurtling around on the beach at full throttle, no doubt running of some of the energy from the chocolate Gelt he’d seen them scoffing in secret before they left the house, despite their mother's warnings not to gorge themselves before lunch.

Stan didn't mind, he remembered his Hanukkahs as a kid had been somewhat similar though they had been much worse off than this new generation. His chest constricted as it always did when he thought of growing up in Glass Shard, and he watched the two little girls swaddled in leggings and winter coats drawing patterns in the sand with a piece of driftwood. Stan felt a keen breeze pick up and he tried to not focus on the space beside him where his nephew sat, or the fact his twin hadn’t been beside him for near on two decades now.

“Uncle Stan,” Isaac piped up.

He shot him a quick glance, grateful for a distraction. “Ah, yeah kid?”

“Why do we call you Uncle Stan if Mom calls you Ford? They aren’t even similar.”

“Yeesh, that’s what you’re thinking about? Izzy, we’re at the _beach_!”

“We live in San Francisco, Uncle Stan. We’re _always_ at the beach. Besides its December.” As if to reinforce his point Isaac shivered, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“Here.” Stan passed him a thermos from the backpack Shermy had made him take.

“Your mom packed us cocoa, there are cups in the bag.”

“Thanks.” The boy took it from him “You didn’t answer my question.”

Stan grunted. “That’s because it was a dumb question.”He said fixing his nephew with a tired old man look.

“Look my name is Stanford. It’s two different syllables. It’s not rocket science, yeah? It’s like if people took your name Isaac and started calling you –I dunno- Zac, as a nickname, Wacky Zacky, how would ya like that, Wacky ‘Zac?”

His nephew shuddered “Don’t call me that.”

Stan laughed “Exactly! Most people these days call me Stan, which I like. Your mother and your _bubbeh_ were the only ones who could get away with calling me Ford. The latter because she was my Ma, and Sherm because ah- well…”

“You’re scared she’ll punch you again?” Isaac had been at his grandmother’s funeral last year and he had yet to leave Stan alone about the whole ordeal. You tended not to forget your mother breaking her brother’s nose in a hurry.

 Stan didn’t want to explain to an eleven-year-old how grief gutted your insides out like a car on fire, or that his mother had been the best thing they had left, that their memories of her from their respective childhoods were the only ones not tainted by world-shaking mistakes. He didn’t want to say to the kid that because she had to take care of him and his sisters, Shermy hadn’t had a minute to herself to grieve properly before the funeral, that’s why she’d taken it out on the prodigal Stan.  He held no ill will towards Shermy, she was impulsive sometimes, and went off like firecracker when angered, but he couldn’t hold that against her withoutbeing the biggest hypocrite alive. Shermy fucked up because she was a Pines, and her brother would take a hundred hits to the nose if he meant he could keep his sister in his life.

Stanley rubbed the back of his neck with a six-fingered gloved hand, he let out another awkward chuckle. Off in the distance the twins were crouched around a rock pool, Miriam poking somethingwith a plastic spade, behind her stood her sister clutching on to her coat, peering curiously over her shoulder. 

“Woah kid, you can joke about that sure, but don’t act like you’ve never seen Shermy angry before. Surely, you know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that slow burning Jersey Rage. She doesn’t fu- uh- mess around.”

“Yeah, when I broke her telescope she was real mad. Like crying angry. Normally she just goes real quiet and goes on and on about how disappointed she is _blah blah blah_ but this time she started _crying._ ”

“Your mom crying is hardly a surprise Izzy. In fact, I reckon they could use her to water the orange groves whenever there’s a drought.”

Isaac giggled. “Not when she’s mad though. She’s always quiet when she’s mad. It's really scary.”

“No, kidding.” Stanley poured himself some cocoa into a plastic cup and sipped at it, if only just to give him time to think. Shermy was so adamant to never become her father, yet here was her son reporting she used the old Filbrick Pines Method of guilting away your child’s emotions when she was pissed. He filed the fact away for later discussion.

“I didn’t even mean to break it; it was an accident.” Isaac was mumbling.

Stan sighed. “I know, kid. I get that, but sometimes it doesn't matter what your intentions were you still need to be sorry for it happening in the first place.”

He knew he was being hypocritical but the kid wasn’t to know about that now was he?

“I guess so.”  Isaac said, sipping at his cocoa. He went quiet, staring thoughtfully out at the sea.

Stanley went quiet too, he watched the twins, still hovering in sight over the rock pools.  He remembered days they’d spent examining various creepy-crawlies in the rock pools down in Glass Shard. Ford had had a book with pictures and Latin names in it. Stan had just enjoyed sticking his hand in with the sea slugs and the little crabs. He never had any of the patience for much of Ford’s nerdier stuff but he’d gone along with it when it made his brother happy. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about Ford, he thought with untapped bitterness. It wouldn’t to anybody any good to arm themselves in ancient grudges. That wasn’t what Stanley wanted to do. He just wanted to spend time with his family while he still had one. 

There was another branch to the Pines family tree, something he never once thought possible. Considering that between himself, who hadn’t had a date since the late eighties, and Stanford Filbrick “never touched a titty” Pines his parents’ hopes for grandkids were never very high.

By having kids (no matter how precipitous she was about it) Shermy not only carried on the Pines family name but she helped push her parents forward, past the son they lost twice: once at seventeen and then again at twenty-nine, past the son they might as well have exiled too for all he took part in family things. Into the future, this brainy little stick of a kid and the two tiny cherubs playing on the beach. Stanley had to hand it to his sister, she’d done more for the Pines family than he could ever hope to try.

“ _Oh-Oh._ What is it now?” Isaac’s voice broke Stan out of his musing. He looked in the direction where the boy was looking the twins were approaching them quickly. Samantha was crying, one of her pants legs rolled up to the knee, which looked red from where Stan was sitting

“Oh boy. What happened there, girls?” he asked as they came near, setting his cup down and moving towards the crying child.

“Sam slipped on the rocks.” Said Miriam.

“Oyster.” Said Samantha, a quiet squeak of a word.

“What was that? Oysters?”

Samantha burst into fresh tears. Stan didn’t know where to look. He fumbled with the backpack for Band-Aids. Shermy seemed like the type to pack them.

“She cut her knee on a bit of oyster shell.” Miriam explained.

Sam grabbed on to her sister’s arm and hung on for dear life. “Sore.” She sniffled.

“it’s alright, Sammy.” Merm was saying hurriedly, her tone kept light to reassure her sister. “Uncle Stan will make it better.”

Uncle Stan, under stress, muttered to himself that he couldn’t think of one damn thing he’d made better in his life but he rummaged in his backpack nevertheless. Then the thought struck him that he had a first aid kit in the car, homelessness and a tendency to get into dumb fist fights had taught him to be better prepared, and it took him a while but he was learning.

He cut a square of sticking plaster big enough to cover the girl’s knee, and turned back around to face his niece.

“Here you go, sweetie. Hold still for a second now.” He pulled the plaster tight across the raw patch of skin.

“Is that better?” he asked.

The little girl nodded, wiping at her face.

“Better.” She said voice just above a whisper. She nodded at him. “Better.” She said again.

“Budge up, Wacky Zac. There’s room for two more here. D’ya want some cocoa, honey?  What about Merm?”

Sam let go of her sister’s arm and made some fluttery gestures with her hands over and over to calm herself down.  He glanced at Miriam to see if she reacted but she just reached her hand out to take the cocoa from him.

“Twin Chocolate.” Said Sam shyly.

“What’s that, honey?”

“That’s what our Dad calls it when he makes cocoa if they can’t sleep”, explained Isaac.

“Oh right” He took another cup poured some cocoa out for Samantha and passed it to her. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, Uncle Stan.” She said, with a smile, a real showstopper. Stan was a fool, he thought as he smiled real big and wide at this little girl staring up at him.

“It’s no problem, pumpkin.”

Stanley Pines was a dead man; Ford Pines was a ghost. Stan Pines, though. Stan was an alright guy, a decent brother, a son, an uncle. And, he noted as he watched his nieces and nephew with their cocoa and their winter clothes, bunched up together on the hood of his car. Uncle Stan could make things better.


	16. Age 45: The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn't know what she was expecting from her brother, but it sure as hell wasn't this.
> 
> (Please read the chapter notes first)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, here we are and several days earlier than I expected. I don’t even have the words to describe how I’m feeling posting this. This fic was my first go at properly publishing my writing and look at us now. 72,000 odd words later. That’s an entire novel. 
> 
> When I started writing this in a shitty motel room sometime back in September I honestly never thought I’d be where I am right now. It’s phenomenal. A huge thank you to the regular commenters and everyone who just stopped to read this and give me some feedback. I’m glad you like this and I’m glad you like Shermy. It means a lot and I couldn’t have done it without feedback to keep me writing. Thank you guys so much. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations I cried pathetically while writing it. This, the final edited version is a whopping 10k and that’s after cutting out an extra 4000 words.
> 
> A special shout-out to Seph thatpersonbehindyou on tumblr, for all the emotional support and listening to my constant Ford ranting even when you don’t love him like I do. *v* thanks dude, you’re the best. 
> 
> CHAPTER NOTES:
> 
> There is a timeskip into after-canon territory, for this chapter and some very important things have happened in the meantime that will not be elaborated in this fic. This story is about the Pines Family with a focus on Shermy. So there’s a lot I’ve chosen not to cover. There are plenty of Stan twin resolution fics and this isn’t exactly one of them although it features in the resolution arc. This chapter is more or less post-resolution.
> 
> I have left the events of Weirdmageddon and the finale as open ended to make it as canon compliant as possible. I have made the assumption neither Stans die and Bill is sufficiently vanquished (No one better die in canon or I too will die, I swear.).
> 
> Now the important Stuff:
> 
> The twins went back to Piedmont happy and a lot closer in their relationship.
> 
> Ford and Stanley made up enough to come to a truce like arrangement where Ford got the run of his house back and Stan wasn’t left homeless. The shack is still running (they need some income) No one got fired.
> 
> Ford and Stanley aren’t buddy-buddy but they’re civil and they’re trying. I’m sure they both fuck up spectacularly in their own ways but Ford at least has recognised his brother’s dedication to him and the family and said Thank you and Stanley has apologised to Ford for his fuck-ups in the past, no matter whether or not he takes responsibility for them all he has apologised because that needs to happen.
> 
> This isn’t an easy thing to do, and after thirty plus years neither of them are going just keel over and graciously accept the other’s apology, but in living together again they have had time to adjust to their arrangement and by this chapter they have gotten through the bumps in the road in the last six months and they’re healing. It’s a process. This chapter switches between Stanford and Shermy’s POV. Everyone is finally called by the right name, no more Stan switcheroos.
> 
> If you have any more questions about this fic, this universe or anything at all feel free to shoot my an ask over at trustme-im-a-pirate.tumblr.com. I’m always down to talk, especially about Sherm. Seriously come cry with me at anytime.
> 
>  
> 
> **One Final Chapter Soundtrack:**  
> [Always Gold- Radical Face](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uuTVwj6NUs) 
> 
> /And they said you were the crooked kind  
> And that you'd never have no worth  
> But you were always gold to me/
> 
>  
> 
> [Elijah- The Mountain Goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvUsUNUMohE)
> 
>  
> 
> /I know you're waiting  
> I know you've been waiting for a long, long time  
> And I'm coming home  
> I'm coming home/
> 
>  
> 
> [Orange Sky- Alexi Murdoch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ak7afgLM5fM)
> 
>  
> 
> /I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky  
> With my brother and my sister standing by/

_February 2016_

_(Shermy)_

Her brother had called her first, that was one sign something was up.

Stan had called her out of the blue and nobody was dead, dying or arrested.

The next red flag was when he asked her how everyone was and he didn’t use his goofy nicknames. David got called by his name not something mildly derogatory, Isaac got his full name not ‘Little Izzy’, and Tesla and Merm were once again Samantha and Miriam. He sounded very nervous.

Sherm’s heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong.  

“Are you dying? Is it terminal? Oh god Stan, are you okay?”

She heard him chuckle down the line and she could have smacked him. He was always doing that: making her worry for no reason.

Stan cleared his throat “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sherm, listen. I’m coming up to California for a bit in a month or so and I wanted to let you know.”

“Y-you are? What’s the occasion?” She didn’t even try to keep the surprise from her voice.

“Well, I’m missing my great niece and nephew and they’re where you are. It’s my time to come up to you right? They came to me last summer.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re not dying?” she asked, the tremory feeling still lodged in her chest.

He laughed again, though it sounded a little thin. “No Shermy, I’m not dying any more than usual.”

She smacked her lips. “Stanford Pines what are you playing at?”

“I’m playing a game called takin’ an interest in my family.” He drawled. “Don’t sass me, little sister.”

Though he couldn't see her, Shermy rolled her eyes dramatically. She made the noise; the ‘God is testing me’ grunting sigh of frustration. David who was working at the kitchen counter nearby let out a sympathetic chuckle.

“Ugh Fine, be mysterious then. I don't care. When abouts are you looking at coming?” she asked.

There was a pause and a flipping of pages in the background.

“I was thinking sometime in April… When does Passover fall?  Is it in April? I could come up for that.” Stan sounded tentative like he was expecting her to just straight up deny him access to her grandkids. Shermy sighed. She thought they’d gotten past this point already. She was tired.

“What's going on Stanford? I mean- you know what? I don’t _want_ to know.” She clamped the phone between her ear and shoulder and moved to flip through the calendar pinned to the kitchen wall.

 “Passover it’s um- it's the 22nd this year.” She said finally.

“Okay…” soft scribbling noises. “April 22nd?” He repeated. There were the sounds of him moving about in the background. “Yeah yeah, I could do that. Oh and Sherm-”

 _Oh, here it fuckin’ comes, she_ thought. _Here comes some complete bombshell, he's gonna drop._

“What?” She tried very hard not to snap at him.

“I’m bringing a plus one is that alright?”

She laughed because that was not what she was expecting, _at all. Her head was racing._

“What? Stanford you can’t just drop that on me, who is it? Ooh, is it a gal what’s her name? or his name that is. I'm not assumin’.”

“It’s a surprise.” She could just _hear_ the shit-eating grin her in brother’s tone.

She was _so_ going to smack him next time she saw him.

“ _What_? No!  You can’t do that me you gotta tell me more!”

“I don’t. Is it alright for me to bring them or not?”

Shermy palmed her face. “It’s fine. But I will get answers, Mr Mystery. Don't make me have to kick your ass to get them.”

“You can have all the answers you want Sherm, but this is something better explained in person.” He said, and his tone was serious again. Something was up, but she couldn’t peg what.

“Alright.” There wasn’t much else she could say.

“Talk to you later then, honey. Closer to the time.”

Shermy hung up the phone not 100% convinced she understood the conversation that she’d just had.

“I do not understand that man sometimes.” She told her husband.

* * *

_April 22 nd 2016_

_(Shermy)_

Everything was almost ready to go, David was making matzah. The house was tidy. Shermy had picked up Sam from her apartment that afternoon when she was in town so her daughter didn’t have to drive all the way out to their house.

 She checked her watch, the clock and her makeup in the mirror as she waited the first guests to arrive. There was a knot in her gut still, a worry that her brother had something big, some bad secret he was going to unload on the family.  Plus, him bringing a guest? Shermy didn’t even know what to do there, inviting some stranger into her home on a night meant for family.    

They weren’t much more than ten minutes late. Stan’s bust up old car pulled up in the driveway and she saw him get out dressed in the same old brown suit and Shriner’s fez he always wore.

He knocked twice before opening the door himself.

“Hullo, Sherm.” He called out, hovering uncertain in the landing. A second pair of footsteps sounded behind him and the door closed.

Shermy released a breath she didn’t remember holding.

“Oh, Stanford stop standing there in the doorway like a ghost.” She said running up to meet them. “And take that awful fez off, I’ve told ya it’s ridiculous.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah Shermy-Sherm it’s good to see you too.” He moved to block the way, eclipsing his guest from view.

His sister would put up with no such nonsense. She knocked his hat, off with a quick swipe of her hand. “So what’s the big surprise, Mr Mystery? Who's your plus one?”

Stan turned and spoke back over his shoulder. “Just an FYI if she goes for me I'm dragging you down too, kicking and screaming, ok Poindexter?”

“Just like you did when we were born.” The newcomer quipped back, a man’s voice. “Start as you mean to go on and all that…”

“Greetings, Shermaine.” He said, stepping properly into the light, ever the dictionary entry for awkwardness. He was greying too, a streak of silver at his temples and flecks of silver on his chin that caught the light like bits of tinsel. His face seemed softer than his twin’s, his horn-rimmed glasses strangely familiar. He wore a maroon turtleneck and a dark grey suit jacket with patches on the elbows reminiscent of some kind of librarian or absent-minded history professor. He looked at Shermy like she was a car crash in slow motion and he didn’t know whether or not he should look away.

He was alive.

The thought hit her first like a fist to the face.

Shermy gasped, ashen. She took a step back. A whimpered “No.” escaped unbidden from her lips.

She didn’t remember what she thought or how she felt because every cell in her body was screaming out, her lips stuck together dry, her heart thumped out her chest.

Ford stood next to his twin brother, shoulder to shoulder. He smiled, nervous as ever. Both twins adjusted their glasses.

It was like her mind went blank.

“ _Oy gevalt_.” Shermy said, a hand pressed to her chest, then when the Yiddish failed to encompass the sheer enormity of the situation she muttered as an aside:

“ _Holy fuckin’ shit_.”  

From complete silence, the shaky sobs rolled out loud from her chest. Shaken and weeping, she stepped forward grabbed a very surprised Ford by the face, and kissed him _hard_ on the lips.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod.” She sobbed, pulling back and throwing an arm around each twin’s neck. Her head and heart were racing and she felt like she ought to be furious but she didn’t have the processing capacity to be angry right now. There were so many questions.

“H-how?” She started and then shook her head. “No. Which one- which one are you?” she asked looking up at Stanford, the new twin, her face pressed into the meeting of their shoulders.

“I’m Ford, Shermy.” Stanford stammered out, his hand on her arm was the only thing stopping her from sinking to her knees. ”You’ve grown since I last saw you.”  
“The real Ford.” Said Stanley, clarifying. His accent got stronger when he was emotional and right now it was like some trite Jersey Boy stereotype straight out of musical theatre.

“What?” His sister looked like she was five years old and overwhelmed. She didn't feel much differently. The implication of his words hit her like he’d taken a swing at her.

“St-Stanley? _Oh good god_. You’re Stanley! You’ve always been?”

He nodded, face solemn.  

“I’m sorry, Sherm. It’s a long story and I’m real’ sorry.” He looked away blinking. Ford made a face of discomfort, like he didn’t know where to look, and was his brother crying?

Shermy was less shocked, she’d seen Stanley upset many a time before. She clenched a hand into a fist, she was the redeemer, and she could still fix this. Though her head was still spiralling and her chest ached hollow and raw.

“’S okay.” She said, breathing out her nose. She felt like she might faint, she brought a hand up and held it against Stanley’s cheek her thumb stroking his stubble. “Okay, Stanley. It’s Okay.”

“It’s Okay?” Asked Ford weakly. “Just like that and you _accep_ t it?!”

“ _No fuckin’ way_.” She laughed, hysterical wet laughter, which she suspected was just crying shifted up in pitch. “I'm not gonna tell you I'm not fucking reelin’ right now. I expect the full story; I _deserve_ it even. But not right now, it’s Passover. I need to think. Just come in, the both of ya.”

“Come in meet my family.” She said to Ford, then she paused. “I mean… they're your family too. Her face buckled. “Oh, give me _strength_.”  She turned to the other twin, and melted into his arms crying like a babe.

“Oh, fuck.” She said again, quietly into Stan’s neck. “Stanley, _my Stanley_. I can’t believe...all along it was you. You absolute _bastard_.” There was sharpness to her voice but she kept the anger down.

This was not the place and she was not her father.  She had been lied to, she had been wronged but for now Shermy Pines was going to dig her nails in to both her brothers and never let go. Yes, she needed to scream and cry and ride the waves of hurt out but that was not for today. Today she would acknowledge and forgive.

Stanley chuckled, but he gripped on to his baby sister like a vice, he touched her cheek and squeezed her shoulder, trying desperately to undo some of the damage with kindness and touch.

“I love you.” She murmured into his chest, cheeks streaming. “You complete and utter _asshole._ You _absolute fucking walnut_ , I visited your _grave._ ” She punched him in the shoulder but there was no passion in it.

“I’m sorry, Shermy-Sherm” he said again, cupping her face, voice cracking. “I’m really sorry.”

That was Stanley Pines for ‘I love you too’.

She giggled, the sound came out hysterically unhinged. She clung to his shoulder, his neck, his collarbone.

“I forgive you, I forgive you, and I don’t care how bad it is”. She wept openly, still speaking through her tears. “I’m angry, yeah. I'll need you to give me some time. But I’m _too_ _fucking_ old to hold onto it, Stanley. I’ve seen what grudges do.”

She looked over at Ford standing silent, shell-shocked, and she smiled. Despite herself, despite her sore chest and bubbling fury, despite _everything_ , she smiled.  “I forgive both of you.”

“Just like that?” Ford was repeating over and over like a mantra, he was a ghost, a stranger in this house.

The new guy. The outcast. “You don’t even know what’s happening and you’d forgive us just like that?”

His sister nodded. It didn’t feel like a lie.

“What’s all the hubbub, Sherm?” David Chapman-Pines' voice could be heard from the kitchen.

For a second she’d forgotten there was anyone other than her twin brothers there with her, she took a second to get her bearings.

“Mom, are you crying already, honestly? Let the guy get in the door first.” A young bespectacled woman with bright purple hair and Carl Sagan’s face on a galaxy sweater came around the corner from the lounge.  She did a double take then a triple take, then pushed her glasses up her nose.

“Well _, shit_.” She said, blinking fast. “Did _not_ see that coming.”  
“Sam, language!” Came David’s voice again. “What’s going on in there?

“Heya, Tesla.” Said Stanley, peeling his trembling sister off him and leaving her, still crying, in Ford’s arms. Ford holding her upright, a look of panicked awe on his face as he comforted her.

“Uncle Stan?” Samantha furrowed her brow, she looked to Ford. “Other Uncle Stan? Stan squared?” She shrugged not particularly phased. “Is he the dead one?” she asked nodding to Stanford.

“That would be me, actually Sammy.” Said Stanley with a goofy look. “Long Story. But Poindexter, over here is the real Stanford Pines PhD.” Ford waved the hand he’d been patting his sister’s back with. Shermy drew away so he could step forward to meet his niece.

“Oh.   _Oh, shit_.” She said again, quieter so her father couldn’t hear.  After an awkwardly long pause where she seemed to be processing this, she proffered her hand to Ford. It was dainty but covered in white faded scars and callouses. There was a bright pink Band-Aid on her thumb.

“I’m Sam. Uh, Samantha Chapman-Pines, your niece. Your brother calls me Tesla. It’s a family nickname. I just loved your thesis.”

Ford smiled, nervous as ever. “It’s nice to meet you, Samantha, and thanks, I like your sweatshirt.” He shook her hand.

She chuckled “Heh, thanks.” Her eyes came to rest on his fingers. “Ooh polydactyly, cool! Thought Mom was making that up.”

Ford paused, a little confused. “No, these are my real hands.” He said, not sure how to feel or where to look.

Sam shrugged, unbothered. “Well, your hands are cool! Wanna see something else cool?”

He nodded, uncertain of what she was going to do.

“Hold these for a second” She passed him her glasses and took something out of her pocket. The she turned around with her finger to her eye. When she turned back around she was holding her contacts case. Sam took her glasses back from him and put them on.

“I got the weird genes too!” she said, beaming with pride. Her eyes had both previously been the same brown as her mother’s, now her right eye was a bright emerald green. “These are my real eyes.”

“ _Heterochromia Iridium_.” He breathed. A warm feeling seeped up his feet from the floor. Kinship, belonging.  “That's fantastic, Sam. That is indeed very cool!”

The young woman shrugged again, not in the least bit fazed. “So, you’re my uncle. What do I call you?” she asked.

“Well, He’s still Stan. I’m Ford.”

“Welcome back to the family, Uncle Ford. Mind if I pick your brains later when Mom’s stopping using you as a walking Kleenex?”

“I’d like that, Sam. I'd like that a lot.”

Shermy had pulled herself together enough to be able to stand up unsupported and collect her thoughts. Nothing felt real, she moved back over to Stanley for comfort. The irony that the brother she’d thought gone forever was more familiar to her wasn’t lost on her, she felt old, she felt angry but she was distracted enough to put it aside. Clinging to Stan’s arm in case he might float away out of her life again.

“Sam bubby, where’s your sister?” she asked, trying to resume the family gathering she’d been hosting before her worldview was shattered into little shards.

Samantha pulled out her cell phone and checked her messages.

 “She says twenty minutes, Ma. They’re coming from the airport though, give them some time.”

“Is Minnie Mouse overseas again?” Asked Stanley using his nickname for Yu Min, Sam’s fiancée. Everyone in the family had a nickname except David who was just ‘Chapman’ and Laura Pines who Sherm suspected he was just plain frightened of.

“She's coming back from another conference yeah, but she's got her car in layover parking so she's picked up Merm from the airport and they're coming together.”

“Ohoho! To be a fly on the wall on that trip” laughed Stanley.

“Yeah my sister and my girlfriend in one car, either they're gonna kill each other or they'll actually get along really well. I don't know which option is worse.”

“ _Samantha_!” Shermy scolded, giving her daughter a ‘respect your sister’ look, she’d got it down to fine art in the last few years.

Sam grinned, huge and wide. “I'm kidding, Mom. Yeesh. You know Merm and I are doing alright now.”

Shermy bit her bottom lip “Yes, and thank you for any part you had in that reconciliation, Stanf- Ley, Stanley.” Her ears were ringing, she noticed her reflection in the glass of the hutch cabinet with a detached sense of apathy, her makeup was everywhere and she looked a state.

“Anytime Sherm. I’m just glad I didn't have to lock ‘em in a room together to sort it out.”

“You helped the twins make up?” Shermy heard Ford mutter in his brother’s ear.

Stanley shrugged. “Yeah, what can I say? I know what it's like to be shut out from a young age. It wasn't anything like what happened with us but I told them they're both twenty-three they have the rest of their lives left to fuck up phenomenally.”

“Oh Stanley” –Just like that Shermy was crying again.

Sam and Stan groaned. Ford hovered, concerned. She waved him off gently with a soft hand and moved out of the landing heading in the lounge and kitchen area. Heading to David, her compass.

The living room was huge and open plan seguing between the lounge area and the kitchen. David turned around hearing guests. He looked between Stanford and Stanley the mental arithmetic visible on his face.

 “Oh.” He said, eyebrows raised. “Hello…”He opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it again. He glanced at his wife dissolving into further tears. “Shit, Sherm.” He put down the bowl he was mixing and washed his hands, before he wrapped her up in a bearhug.

“Language, Dad.” Snarked Samantha. Her mother snickered despite herself, into David’s chest.

* * *

_(Stanford)_

Seeing her mother out of earshot Samantha elbowed her uncle in the ribs. “Hey Uncle Stan we still playing house rules?”

“Wait till the others get here otherwise at this rate we’ll both be under the table before the Piedmont lot arrive.”

“What are the house rules?” Ford asked

“It's essentially a Pines family drinking game.” Said Sam “Coined by me and my brother who is also sufficiently uncomfortable at social events, Uncle Stan’s added to it over the years.”

“Yeah well you're twenty-three now kid you’ve only been playing for two years, haven't ya?” Said Stanley with the straightest face he could manage.

The both burst out laughing, Ford was left in the lurch a bit smiling at his brother and his niece carrying on like old friends. He didn't do this kind of social thing often, too many strangers made him anxious and paranoid. He had trouble with empathy and he always laughed at the wrong things.

 Still Stan looked happy and that made him feel something warm and vaguely positive. Plus, Samantha wanted to hear about his work. He could talk about that, that wasn't too taxing.   He felt some things slide into place for him.

“What are the rules?” he asked, because _hey if you couldn't beat them then join them_.

“Whenever someone mentions they’re the older twin, they have to drink, whenever anyone mentions Oregon you have to take a drink and most importantly whenever Shermy cries take a drink.”

“That’s horrible, Stanley!” Ford exclaimed, looking at his little sister, still red-faced and shaky-breathed trying to still her hands enough to take a gulp of wine.

She was so familiar and so alive, that Ford could hardly believe this was really happening looked like a cross between their mother and Mabel, her short bobbed brown hair and noticeable family cheekbones.

Stanley laughed him off.

“Shuddup Poindexter, you haven’t been around for thirty years of her crying at coffee commercials and pictures of babies.”

“And After School Specials” added Sam with a drawn-out groan. “And any sad movie with animals.”

“Not to mention anything by Simon and or Garfunkel.” Stanley said, shaking his head with a knowing look of long-sufferance.

Sam snorted “Not a week ago I met her for coffee just off campus, they played say maybe ten seconds of the “Sound of Silence” and my forty-something year old mother is bawling her eyes out in a Starbucks.”

Ford laughed at the mental image, he glanced over once more at his sister who was over in the kitchen fussing, her make-up smudged and eyes puffy.  Her husband (David right? There were a bunch of new names to remember) laid a soothing hand on her shoulder as she wrestled with paper serviettes with trembling hands. He pulled her in to another quick embrace and noticing Ford watching he smiled a little apologetically over Shermy’s shoulder.

This was nothing like Ford had expected, there wasn't any yelling. No one was fighting. No one was kicked out.  This was nothing like the family he’d grown up with. Almost everything felt new. He couldn't tell if it was good or bad, his emotions blunted once more.

The doorbell rang, it was accompanied by impatient knocking.

“That's them!”  Said Shermy clapping her hands together. Ford opened his mouth to ask which ‘them’ she was referring to but he didn’t get a chance to speak.

Sam stopped what she'd been saying mid-sentence and rushed out of the room, leaving her uncle slightly dazed in her wake. Stanley chuckled.

“ROUND START!” came a voice that wasn't Samantha’s. Ford looked at his brother in confusion.

Samantha screamed back “FINISH HIM!!”  there was a thundering of feet on wooden floors.

Shermy groaned, wiping some smudges of mascara from under her eyes, outwardly she had a better grip on everything. Internally Ford guessed, was a different matter. compartmentalize and Put away. That’s all she could do right now, apart from burst into tears sporadically, and according to Stan she did that at _all_ family gatherings.

“Twins, ya better not be killin’ each other!” she hollered.

In the entrance way there was a bit of a tussle occurring between Samantha and her twin, Miriam. She was a willowier version of her sister with close cropped chestnut hair and the same mismatched eyes as her sister.  She sat straddling Sam’s shoulders holding her sister’s glasses up out of her reach. The Stanley Pines tactic of choice when it came to scrapping.

“Gimme my glasses back, Merm, I'll kick your ass!” Sam whined.

Her sister laughed “You'll kick your own ass, Einstein, you can't see an inch in front of your face.”

“Are you two fightin’?” Shermy came pounding round the corner a beacon of parental fury. “Grow the fuck up. You are both twenty-three years old.”

In one quick motion Miriam slipped her sister’s glasses back on her face. Sam grabbed both of her twin’s arms and flipped her over her head so she landed on her feet in her sister's arms by the time Shermy got into the hallway it just looked like they were embracing.

Ford laughed, he would have applauded if it wouldn't have given them away. That was impressive.

“Hey Ma, how’s things?” Miriam pulled away from her sister, beaming.

Shermy quirked her eyebrow. “I'm on to you two. Where's Yu Min?”

A young woman slight but broad-shouldered with glossy dark hair in a bob and oval-framed wire glasses, stepped out of the corner where she’d been avoiding the twins flying limbs. She waved a hand.

“I’m here, Mrs Pines. Nice to see you!”

Shermy beamed leaning in to peck the woman on the cheek.

“Aww come ‘ere bubby, I haven’t seen ya in so long! You look so nice today, I wish I looked that smart coming straight off a plane.”

“Hey what about us, Ma?” Piped up Samantha.

Her sister joined in “Yeah, where's our hugs? How do we look?”

“Didn't you miss us-?” Sam asked, batting her eyelashes, her arm curved around her fiancée’s waist. Yu Min rolled her eyes skyward, but she was still smiling.

Shermy smacked her lips. The sound had an almost Pavlovian response on Ford and his brother, they both shuddered.

“-Your own daughters” Schmoozed Miriam

Shermy harrumphed crossing her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. “Like a dog misses a flea. You two are always bitin’ my ass.”

Samantha pretended to be shocked and offended, mock fainting away into her sister’s arms. Miriam caught her instinctively without looking. Then she noticed her uncles, Stanley first.

“Hey Uncle Stan.” She murmured, something crossed her face. It might have been discomfort it might have actually been fear. Ford couldn't gauge it. She hugged her arms around herself defensively.

Yu Min brightened at that "Hi there, Stan!” she said smiling.

“Merm.” Replied Stanley with a smile, nodding his acknowledgment to both women.  “Minnie Mouse.”

Shermy ushered the newcomers towards the living room.

“Come into the lounge you two, you must be tired, Minnie how was ya conference?”

The woman shrugged. “Long, but relatively interesting.”

“Uhhh. Mom?” The other twin had just noticed Stanford and turned white as a sheet.

“Give it a rest, Miriam. I'm talkin’ here.”

She shook her short hair vehemently “Um, _No_. Mom who's that!? Mom, what the fuck? There's two of them? One of you is meant to be dead.”

Shermy clucked her tongue. “Miriam this is your Uncle Ford, the real Stanford. It turns out Uncle Stan was Stanley all along.”

For saying the revelation had brought her entire world crashing down not half an hour ago, Shermy delivered the explanation in a fantastically blasé and condescending tone.

She was something else, Ford thought. He hadn't expected nor wanted much from this family reunion plan of his brother's in fact really he’d only come to humour Stan, he'd not wanting to infringe on a family he'd had no part in for thirty odd years, but Shermy, she was like a force of nature. Stanley had sounded like he genuinely expected her to close the door in their faces and yet the first thing she’d done was forgive them. Ford thought about a little girl on a New Jersey boardwalk and he remembered.

Miriam glanced at her sister, trying to gauge if this was a joke or not.

“What.” She said, her tone flat and deadpan. “How?”

Sam shrugged. “They haven't explained yet. “

“Sorry for the confusion,” Said Stanley. “We were kinda waiting for everyone to arrive before we got to actually explaining.

“Wait, no. That means.” Miriam groaned dramatically shooting a look at her sister who stuck out her open palm grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Read it and weep, douchecanoe. You owe me twenty bucks.”

“Shit. Y’know this is kinda you guys’ fault, Uncle Stan.” Said Miriam shooting her laughing uncle a look, “Now we _all_ have to put up with Sam’s unbearable smugness.”

“Pay Up, Merm.” Said her twin, with a grin that suggested the aforementioned unbearable smugness.

“Ugh.” Miriam made a noise of disgust “Give me a minute to sit down.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Isaac owes me double. He bet me thirty bucks that this had nothing to do with Stanley.”

“Well he walked into that one himself.”

“Wait you two were betting on me showing up?” asked Ford, following them into the lounge, slightly dazed.

“Sort of.” Said Sam shrugging. “We had a bet Stan was hiding something from us.

Stanley sulked. “Hey, I’ll have ya know I am an upstandin’ member of society.”

“But even Sammy didn’t predict the identity switch thing though.” crowed Miriam.

“We honestly thought Uncle Stanley was you, and you were dead or presumed dead anyway.” Said her twin to Ford.

“Girls, Stop.” Shermy sounded like she couldn’t decide if she was angry or exhausted. She looked both.

“Mom who's gonna tell the kids?” Miriam piped up, taking a seat next her twin on the longer of the two couches.

Shermy froze. She turned to Stanley.

“Shit! Stanford, uh, Ley I mean. I totally forgot Isaac and Laura are bringing the kids.”

Stan frowned. “I know, what's wrong with that?  I love my great niece and nephew!”

“No, I know that, but I never told them that you were a twin. Isaac was adamant he didn't want it affecting them.” She glanced at Ford and smiled genuinely with those familiar amber eyes. “They're my eldest’s kids, they’re thirteen. A boy and a girl. Oh! Stanford they had such a _blast_ staying with their Grunkle Stan last summer.”

“Blast, heh. Interesting choice of words.” Said Stanley softy, not meeting his sister’s eyes.

They’d agreed before the kids left that it would be for the best if they didn’t fill in their parents on all the events that had occurred that summer: the apocalypse, the portal, the danger. Stan was worried Isaac would cut him off completely from the kids if he found out and Ford knew how important the children were to his brother’s wellbeing and sanity. The kids had understood too, no doubt they didn’t want anything to part them from their beloved Grunkle either.

Ford shot him a ‘shut up ya knucklehead’ kind of look, but an understanding passed between them. Ford smiled at his brother. The sensation was becoming less alien to him. It felt… right.  He turned his attention back to Shermy.

She looked at Stan, her hands in her lap and she smiled.

“Stanley. You're my big brother. Nothin’ in the world is gonna stop you being my brother. You've always been there for me and I'm glad you're here pretence-free…”

It was like a switch had been hit and her face went from kindly to deadly serious in seconds. “…but you better let those little star shards down nice and easy when you explain the situation because otherwise I will beat your ass into a fine red mist, are we clear?” her voice was industrial diamond hard.

Stanley simply nodded. “Crystal. I'll handle it Sherm, don’t you worry about it.”

“And Stanford”? She turned to the other brother, smiling.

He hazarded a smile back but it felt more like a grimace. “Y-yes, Shermaine?”

“It's just Shermy, honey, if ya don't mind. And let me tell you something too while I'm at it. I don't know you that well yet, but you're my brother and you are welcome here. Nevertheless, if you ever _, ever_ do anything to hurt anyone in this family, and yes I mean Stanley too, I will not tolerate it.”  

There was something primal in her expression just then, not a hint of kindness in it just the black-pupiled, wild look of a lioness protecting her young. Her voice did not waver if anything it was deadly calm.

 “I will break fuckin’ _bones_ if I have to. I _will not_ have another Filbrick Pines puttin’ thirty-odd years of what I have built, asunder.” She paused and took a deep breath in. Her voice then softened a great deal, her eyes becoming liquid and kind, the colour of honey in the light. “I'm not saying that you will, Ford, I just need all of us adults to be on same page, _versteh_?”

“O-of Course. I- I mean yeah, I understand.” _Oh_. Thought Ford with a sense of wry realisation as he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. _Stan was right to be wary about her,_ _she_ was _terrifying_.

* * *

 

When the Piedmont Pines arrived Shermy corralled the whole family into the front entrance hall again to greet them.

“Remember what I said Ford…” She shook her head, quickly correcting herself. “ _Ley_ , I meant Ley, Stanley. Don't break those kids hearts or I'll break ya face.”

“I heard you the first time, Sherm. And I said don't worry about, didn't I?”

The door opened and a woman with soft fluffy brown hair strode in. Laura Pines, the twins’ mother. She wore a chunky beaded necklace with various bright coloured wooden beads that just screamed ‘Mabel Pines masterpiece’

“Shermy!” she exclaimed embracing the older woman.

Ford watched his sister beam and glow like a firefly. There were hugs all round.

Stanley stepped out in front of him again and smiled at the newcomer

“Hey honey, how are you doing?” he said all crinkly eyes and polite smiles. There was a distance between Stan and this woman, but it didn’t feel strained like him and Miriam,

“I'm alright, thanks Stanford. Sorry, I didn't see you there.” She nodded to Stanley.

Ford didn't correct her, lurking again like a ghost in the hallway, not sure if he should step into her line of sight or not.

He didn't have time to think about it either as Mabel appeared first bounding into the doorway in a blue and white Star of David sweater.

“Hey Nonna!” She yelped, running at her grandmother at full speed and embracing her round the middle.

Shermy laughed, catching the flailing child. “Oof! There she is! My beautiful North Star, my little Polaris.”

Mabel’s eyes tracked to Stanley and she lit up like the star of her nickname.

Stanley held his arms open with a huge grin and no words.

Ford suspected the high-pitched noise the girl emitted could only be heard by dogs and bats, she hurdled towards her Great uncle.

“Grunkle Stan!”

The scene that followed, Ford noted was like the tired romantic movie trope where the lovers run across a beach into each other's arms. This version was much more satisfactory, Stanley bent down caught his niece and spun her around in the air. His big cheesy grin carved twenty years off his face.

“Hey there, pumpkin. How's my favourite great niece?”

“I'm good, kinda hungry! How's the Shack, How's Soos?!”

Her uncle gave an exaggerated shoulder shrug. “He's Soos, you know he'll be fine, I left him in charge while we were away, you should have seen him blubbering, the big baby.” Stan smiled fondly.

“As long as he doesn't burn my house down while we’re gone.” Ford piped up, finally coming into the light.

Stanley chuckled. “Don't worry about it, nerd. Soos may be…well _Soos_. But that lady friend of his has her head screwed on properly.”

Finally seeing Stanford, Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford?! You're both here?!

“Hullo Mabel! Yes, we are.”

“Together.”  Added Stanley with a fond smile.

Mabel’s expression was nearly all the justification Ford needed to be here. The girl’s face outshone a supernova.

 “Oh, man!  I am so so very proud of you two! Watch out Great Uncle Ford, the hug train Is coming to the station!  She de-tangled her arms from Stanley and flung them around Ford’s waist. Still feeling slightly awkward Ford eventually bent down to hug her back.

“It's good to see you too, my dear.”

Shermy had gone very quiet and very pale. She was staring at her brothers with an indecipherable expression.

“Wait, honey, what the fu-dge? _Mabel knows about Ford_?”

“I told ya it was fine Sherm.” Said Stan, a hand on her shoulder. Shermy flinched away from him.

Mabel pulled away from Ford and turn back to shout over her shoulder “Dipper, Dad get in here!”

“We’re coming, Mabel sheesh!”

Dipper said appearing in the doorway, flanked by a skinny young man with brown hair and beard scruff. He was wearing black slacks and a dark green dress shirt. His face was so nearly familiar to Ford, the Pines’ family nose and Shermy’s bone structure. His son looked a lot like him.

The man, Isaac Pines, pushed his glasses up his nose on his way in, he glanced between Stanford and Stanley several times, and much like his stepfather the clockwork thought process was visible on his face.

It stopped. He reached a conclusion and he reached it fast.

“Honey, did you grab my wallet from the car?” Isaac asked, face placid.

Laura frowned “Yes? but I hardly think this is the time.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a brown leather wallet.

Isaac took the wallet from his wife’s hands and took out a fifty-dollar bill. He walked past his daughter hugging a strange man he’d never seen before but who was identical to his uncle, past his flabbergasted mother on the edge of tears and he stopped at Samantha, his little sister who was watching the whole saga from the entrance to the lounge squeezed in between her twin and her fiancée.

“Evening, brobro.” She said, beaming. She held out a palm.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Not another word, out of ya, you hear.” He handed her the money.

Sam grinned, the biggest and most shit-eating of grins. She held the bill up to the light and then pocketed it.

“Pleasure doing business with ya, Iz.”

He snorted, turned back around and moved to hug his mother. “Hey Ma.”

“What the hell is happening?” Shermy was boiling but she paused to embrace her son. “The kids were in on it? And I _didn't_ know?” Her voice was soaring in pitch. It reminded Ford of their Ma.

Isaac glanced at his children, “Kids, what's the story?” He said, firmly. He ran a hand back through his curls.

“Twin’s oath, Nonna.” Piped up Mabel, holding her fingers in a zip to her lips. Dipper shadowed the gesture.

“Yeah, Don't take it out on them Nonna Shermy, they didn't plan for us to find out like we did.” He said, uncomfortable.

“The children are right, Shermy. Stanley and I needed time to sort things out between us first, is all.” Added Ford.

 _Like Six whole months’ time_. He added in his head. He knew better than to say that out loud. Shermy could do the math herself.

“I think it's time we all got an explanation, Stanley, Stanford”. Her voice trembled but she held her expression together with all the patience she could hold on to. “I'd rather have this all out in the open before we start the Seder.”

The Pines family reassembled in the living room, the two younger sets of Pines twins piled onto one couch with Yu Min squeezing herself in at the end.

“Aunt Miriam.”  Said Dipper with a nod and mannerisms similar to Stan’s level of calculated indifference.

His aunt pulled a face, it looked like there was some genuine remorse there.

“Hey Dipper.” She looked like she was trying to figure out what to say. “Dipper, I'm sorry. I never got to apologise for what I said to you, before. I am sorry. I should never have taken my aggression at this family out on you. You deserve to be respected as you are.”

“Apology accepted.” Said Dipper graciously. “I'm sorry my twin sent several hundred angry bees to your house.”

“I'm not!” yelled Mabel next to him, not yet adjusted to an inside voice level. “I won't apologize for art!”

Samantha laughed. “And what a work of art it was, Mabel.” Her sister gave her a look of annoyance.

Shermy was standing, her hand still clutching at Isaac’s arm.  Ford took a seat in the sofa opposite the kids, Stanley sat dwon beside him.

Laura took an armchair, Isaac sat on the arm and squeexed his wife’s hand with a smile

“I’ll get some more chairs from the dining room.” Said Shermy hovering uncertain where to go, seeing David with nowhere to sit.

“I’ll do it, pine nut. You sit here and listen, don’t worry about me.”

She took the last seat, turned herself to face her brothers. She sat with her hands in fists in her lap.

“So, Stanley…” she began but trailed off.

Stanley glanced at his twin, Stanford inclined in his head once, deliberately. _You do the talking,_ that meant. They’d agreed on that on the drive up. Stan nodded back at him.

“Is everyone here?” Stan asked looking around.

Shermy nodded. “When you two are ready.”

Ford moved closer to his twin, a mix of wishing to give support and also looking for support of his own. The sat together, their arms touching. Ford focused his attention and energy on his brother beside him not wanting to look away in case others were staring him. Ford the novelty, Ford the outsider.

Stan cleared his throat and hazarded another glance at sister.

“Well, I guess we should start in the Fall of 1970. Ford and I were seventeen years old, seniors in high school. We lived with our Ma, our Pa and…” He smiled at Ford, then Shermy. “…our tiny baby sister, in a place called Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey…”

* * *

_(Shermy)_

“Okay but how did you explain your hands?” Sam was asking, she pointed at Ford’s fingers with her fork. “Or do you mean to tell me that _none of us_ noticed two missing fingers over thirty years?”

They were halfway through dinner, the Seder and other festivities were out of the way, the world-shaking secrets finally out in the open and up for discussion by all.

Shermy was only half listening, she focused her energy on her food, though her appetite was waning.

Stanley opened his mouth grinning, no doubt ready to outline his genius plan. He was interrupted, bluntly by his sister.

“The gloves.” replied Shermy staring at her plate with a dead monotone to her voice and no facial expression as all the little pieces of the story began to align for her. She wasn't in the least bit interested in the mystery of the thing. She felt hurt and lied to and to be completely honest she wanted her mother here to make everything right again, but Opal was almost twenty years gone now. She'd never know.

“Sorry? What?” asked Ford.

Stan reopened his mouth but his sister cut him off again.

“He always wore six-fingered gloves. Told me he had chemical burns on his hands that he was uncomfortable about showing.”

Ford looked at his own hands, Shermy could see from where she was sitting that they were covered in faded scars and calluses and a lighter discoloured patch of skin that may indeed have been down to chemical burns.

“That’s... actually rather inventive Stan.” He said.

Stanley shrugged. “Yeah, well some of us gotta make do with what we got,  we can't all be geniuses.”

“Genii.” Ford corrected without missing a beat.

Stan just rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“Shuddup, Ford.”

Across the table Miriam rubbed at her eyes.

Her sister twitched, crowing. “Miriam Andromeda Pines, are you crying?”

Merm frowned and spluttered.  “ _No,_ you humanoid fart in a blanket. My contacts are drying out, is all.”

Ford raised his eyebrows “You wear contacts too?”

She scowled “Yeah, what of it?”

Sam piped up. “Her eyesight is terrible but she's been too cool for glasses since we were like fourteen.”

Ford chuckled that sounded familiar enough.

But you don't cover up your heterochromia, like Sam does?

She shrugged, “No, they're my eyes I was born with them. I don't care if people think they're weird. I like them.”

“I wasn't accusing.”  Said Ford holding up twelve fingers in his defense.

Miriam smirked. “I know you weren't. It’s just not an issue for me.  I never saw the point in hiding them, like she does.

Sam shook her head. “Hey! I’m not _ashamed_ of my eyes, I'd just like to be taken seriously in my field, is all. I mean I'm already a gay, autistic engineer in a scientific field surrounded by male peers.” She sighed saring at her I’m not giving them any more stakes to burn me at, y’know?”

 “Would people really not take you seriously just because your eyes are different colours?” Dipper piped up, concerned.

“Adults are petty, Alexander.” Said Yu Min softly. “I wouldn’t let it bother you.”

“Wait, Alexander?” Ford hissed to Stan under his breath

“Fill in the blanks.” His twin murmured back, “You're a smart guy.”

“It doesn't suit him.” Ford hissed back. He couldn’t see his great nephew as anything other than Dipper,

“That's why only Mabel, Laura and Minnie are allowed to use it.”

Somewhere in the middle of passing the potatoes and listening to her children exchange banter something just fizzled out in Shermy’s brain and suddenly _nope_ that was it she just couldn’t cope anymore.

“I just forgot to uh, go get the thing.” She said, voice cracking, avoiding eye contact. She mumbled something else sufficiently non-specific and left the room in a hurry.

There was a long pause of quiet that hung over the group before there was any reaction.

 Miriam and Isaac exchanged a concerned look. Dipper edged his seat a little closer to his sister’s.

Stanley pushed back his chair ready to go after her, Ford hesitated setting his cutlery down wondering if he should follow.

“Stan, please don’t.” David Chapman-Pines’ voice had an edge to it, one that his even his own children very rarely heard. “Let me handle this.”

“Dad?” Sam looked around at everyone’s faces, and slowly piecing together that something was wrong, frowned “What’s happening?”

“Don’t worry, lovey. She just needs some time.” He rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He nodded at Ford first, then Stanley. “We all do.”

“Is Nonna, okay?” asked Mabel, brown eyes wide and shining.

“She’ll be fine, _shterndl_.” Said Isaac, the endearment made Ford’s chest clench, _little star_. “Nonna’s tough as nails, you know that.”

Ford glanced at Stan who frowned and tucked his chair back in. Still he paused to reassure Mabel.

“Your dad’s right sweetie.  Shermy’s a Pines and Pines are hard and sturdy, like the tree.”

* * *

Shermy Chapman-Pines: Journalist, Writer, Sister, Mother, Grandmother was 45 years old and she was crying on the tiled bathroom floor, sobs filling the space where breath used to be. She was tough, yes, she was hard and she was sturdy, but flesh, blood and brain chemicals only go you so far, and despite her years of assertions to the contrary she wasn’t actually cast from steel.

David found her curled up by the bathtub. He got down on the floor beside her and wrapped her up in his arms. They lay entangled in each other, like newlyweds, sitting in silence while Shermy’s chest-wracking cries of grief boiled down into soft sniffling whimpers.

David ran his fingers over her back in swirling patterns, like he always did whenever she was upset.

“I want you to know, pine nut… No, I _need_ you to know that the while the kids can’t see the scale of what you are doing right now, _I do_. I’ve been around for over twenty-five years of the Pines Family Theatre. I want you to know I see what you’re trying to do and I’m proud of you.”

Shermy smiled at that, despite herself, wiping her eyes on his shoulder. She lay with her face breathing in his neck for a moment.

“What else can I do David? What other choice did I have? Cast out my own flesh and blood when they’ve made the first step to reconcile? It's Passover, ain't we supposed to be holding our family closer rather them driving them away?”

Her husband sighed. “If you did, you’d be well within your rights to, Stanley lied for thirty years and Ford you’ve only just met. I’m not passing judgement here, I’m telling you. You did have a choice and while I feel like you’re making the right one, though it’s not the easiest one by far.”

Shermy wiped her nose on the back of her hand

“I'm angry, I am but I dunno, my head hurts, I can’t process this so quickly. The man who I I’ve been mournin’ since I was eleven and a fucking half years old, the brother I thought I’d never meet, is not only alive and chowing down in our dinin’ room as we speak but he’s the same man who all but raised me, took me in when I was pregnant, was there for the kids’ births, danced with me at our wedding. 

I-I _Fuck_ , David. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I- I need to forgive them so I can fuckin’ _move on_ with my life. Otherwise, I'll _break_ something.”

David smiled. “To be honest, darling, I’m actually impressed you haven’t punched either of their lights out yet.”

She snorted, and leaned her weight against him, for comfort.

“How could I? My whole family’s here expecting me to be the bigger person.”

A quiet sob of pain escaped her lips, unexpected.  “I’m not my father, David.” She whimpered.

“Shit Sherm, no one was making that accusation. If anything you’re the man’s polar opposite.”

“You think so? But I’m impulsive, and I go real quiet when I’m angry, and value the truth more than I oughta.”

“Shermaine Chapman-Pines, listen up and listen well, my darling. If you were _anything_ , anything at all like your father then there’d be a lot more empty places set at our dinner table, trust me on that, yeah? When you go back out there and we both know you will, take a look at how great our family is. We did that honey. Our kids, our grandkids. We raised them good enough despite all your family’s drama and we’ll get through this revelation just fine.”

“Yeah. I sure hope you’re right.”

Her husband sighed, helping her up to stand and pulled her in for another quick hug.

“Can I do anything to make this easier on you, Sherm?” He asked as he released her, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

Shermy held a cold washcloth to her puffy under-eyes, and rustled around in the cabinet for some concealer.

“You can put vodka in my glass when the kids aren’t looking.” She muttered with a half-smile, dragging a comb through her hair.

David shrugged, not even bothering to call out her on her coping mechanisms “Okay, I’m on it.”

* * *

_(Stanford)_

Shermy had been gone for five whole minutes and without their Matriarch conversation was starting to lag.

“Did they go out the back door?” asked Isaac, looking at his sister. “She’s probably just gone to punch the tree for a bit to cool down.”

Miriam shook her head. “They went _upstair_ s you can’t get into the garden from any of the second floor windows, trust me on that.”

“Trust Merm, she's tried. She broke her collarbone trying to sneak out that window when we were seventeen.”  Samantha added the last sentence in a conspiring tone to her uncles.

Her sister palmed her face. It was a very Shermy gesture, Ford noted.

 “You didn’t need to tell them that.” She said.

“Okay, so she’s not punching the tree.” Said Isaac with a shrug. He glanced over at the Stan twins seated beside each other. “I hope that doesn’t mean she’s saving all her punching for you two later.”

“ _Isaac, sweetheart_.” scolded Laura. “Not in front of the kids.”

Mabel snorted. “ _Mom_ puh-lease, it’s just punching. We know what violence is y’know. We _have_ television.”

“The tree.” repeated Stanford confused. Trying to get a word in the ice floe of conversation. “Excuse me, if I’ve missed something but what that’s this about a tree?”

“The punching tree.” Chimed Dipper and Isaac in unison with exactly the same intonation. Dipper glanced at his father and pulled a slightly disgusted face. Mabel bopped him, grinning, on the arm.

“There’s a big poplar tree, out back. Our Mom likes to go punch it when she’s angry. It works, she’s never once taken it out on us.” Explained Miriam.

Ford raised his eyebrows, the image of his slight, skinny sister punching a poplar tree was an odd one. Yet not that strange as far as this family was considered.

 “If you squint your eyes right you can see Zaidie Pines’ face in the bark.” Said Sam a forkful of broccoli hovering over her lips.

Her twin rolled her mismatched eyes “Dude, you have the eyesight of a naked mole rat, it looks nothing like him.”

“Enough so for your Ma to keep punching it all these years.” Stanley said sipping his wine with a pointed look. Miriam nodded a concession.

“I’m lost.” Admitted Stanford, glancing at his great niece and nephew for help but the twins were ignoring the adult drama passing back and forth a doodled on napkin, playing the square game.

Stan cleared his throat. “Long story short, Poindexter: our dad was a complete and utter di-“

Laura shot him a look “Stan! _The children_.”

“I was gonna say ‘ _Dingus’,_ honey.” Said Stanley his hands raised, in defense.  Laura nodded, satisfied. “He was a complete and utter dingus and we all gotta live with the fallout. Luckily for everyone here Sherm is a lot better adjusted than of any of us busybodies. So we should all just stop kibitzing and leave her alone, yeah?”

With quiet nods and guilty sliding eyes, his nieces and nephew dropped the subject. A quiet pause filled the room, with only the clinking of cutlery on plates.

Mabel, true to her family nickname, smiled wide and cheery shining like Polaris, the Northern Star.

“Grunkle Stan, did Nonna tell you? I’m directing the _whole play_ at school this year!” she chimed in full of enthusiasm.

“Wh-Whaat?! That’s fantastic pumpkin! Knock ‘em dead!”

“Well I’m not doing it completely alone; I mean I have to hand it to my executive producer.” She held her fist out to brother without looking and Dipper bumped it with a lopsided grin, brown ringlets falling across his face. “He’s in charge of all the technical stuff.” Said Mabel.

Dipper shrugged matter-of-factly, still grinning “Someone’s got to tell her we can’t include fifteen live dogs in the chorus line, and no one else has the guts.”

Across the table Samantha flicked a pea off her fork into her twin’s face

Miriam removed it from her dress. “Sammy, what the heck”

“Why don’t we get to share cute projects together– Adventure Twin?”

“ _You never_ _asked_.” Miriam retorted, a pinkness rushing to her cheeks.

“You could help me with our wedding invitations! You’re really good at art.”

Merm waved her off. “I dunno, I’m alright at sketching here and there.”

“Shut up, ya dork, you’re brilliant at it, I can hardly pull off a Venn diagram.” She said with a self-depreciating grin.

“Are there creative limitations on these invitations or can I go wild?”

“The limitations are if you Photoshop our faces into something dumb, I’ll kick your butt.”

“That seems fair, How much do I get?”  
“Your favourite sister’s undivided love and attention.”

Miriam laughed and flicked a pea in her direction.

“Ew Gross. For ten easy payments of $12.99, you too can buy my favour.”  
Sam flicked another pea in her direction and blew a raspberry.

“I’m a grad student Merm, even my debts are in debt.”

Stanford snorted “Don’t your scholarships pay for all your fees?”

Yu Min and Sam exchanged a look and a burst of bitter laughter.

“Ha! I recognise you haven’t been in this universe for a while now, Uncle Ford. But things have changed since the seventies.

“Not necessarily for the better.” Minnie added with a shake of her head.

* * *

_(Shermy)_

It took her another ten minutes, but Shermy pulled herself back together with her own two hands, David sat with her, patient and kind, the whole time just reassuring her she was doing the right thing.

They went back downstairs; the chatter had died down significantly. Laura was asking Yu Min about their wedding plans, Sam was much more interested in animatedly talking shop with Ford than discussing her upcoming nuptials. The youngest twins were playing amongst themselves.

Everyone was okay. Thought Shermy, already running through her mental checklist of ‘is everyone happy?’ She took a deep breath and moved to sit back down.

David and Shermy re-joined the table, David went in to the kitchen refilled his wife's glass for her. He brought it back with a wink.

“Are you okay, Sherm?” asked Stanley, concern etching fine lines on his face.

There was an uncomfortable pause in all conversation as everyone looked to their matriarch for her response. Stanley gripped at the edge of the tablecloth.

“I will be.” His sister said simply. “Merm honey, can you pass the salt?”

* * *

_(Stanford)_

It was after dinner and the dishes had been cleared away and everyone had moved back into the living room. Once again Shermy looked like she was going to cry. Ford took a drink, and from the corner of his vision he spied his twin do the same but nobody actually said anything or teased herr about it was just accepted as something that happened. Shermy was a bit of a cry-baby, much like her mother. Sam carried on with another ridiculous West Coast Tech anecdote, her niece and nephew listened with bated breath.  Shermy moved back into the kitchen to make tea and coffee and Ford followed her half out of concern for her and half just out of a need for something to do to make him feel less gangly and awkward.

Shermy didn't say anything for a long while and then she chuckled, softly to herself. Stanford watched her straining to reach the sugar from the pantry shelf. She turned around and looked up at him smiling, her eyes were wet and golden brown.

“You okay, Shermy?” he breathed, not able to keep the nervous concern from his voice.

She laughed again. “That's not a simple question, Ford. But I'll be alright, in time.”

He nodded, understanding the sentiment completely. “I think we could all do with more time.”

But it wasn’t exactly like they were running out of it, after the things he’d fought for and won back last Summer Ford wasn’t planning on giving it up anytime soon.

He glanced over at his brother on the sofa, Mabel on one side falling into his lap, Dipper on the other side laughing at something she was saying. Stanley in the centre, where he belonged. Threw his head back with a throaty laugh.

 There was that soft glowing sensation radiating from Ford’s chest again. Not developed enough to be joy, happiness or something similar, still vague and nebulous like most of Ford’s emotions. A sense of fondness; growing back gradually in the same place it once was, like a garden once overrun with weeds. New growth had come slowly but surely over the last several months. Now he could see his brother and old pain was not foremost in his mind.

“What was it like?” Shermy asked snapping his attention back to her.

He stared at her, confused, a second too long. Shermy quirked a brow. Klaxons went off in his head, did she know what he was thinking? _No, Ford. That’s paranoid. Put it away._

 “What do you mean?” he asked, voice nervous.

If he was looking shifty Shermy didn’t react. She was busy filling the jug and setting it on to boil.

 “Being through the portal.” She elaborated. “I can’t imagine how that must have been for you. What was it _like_ all that time?”

Ford wavered, no one else had really asked him that before. Well Dipper had, but when the child asked ‘What was it like?’ he meant ‘What did you get up to? What adventures did you have?’

Shermy was asking something different. Her expression was soft, and kindly. The question hung in the corners of her mouth, the contraction of muscles around her eyes. It was gentle and serious and non-judgemental.

‘Hey Stanford,’ his sister meant.  ‘Are you okay?’

“That 's not a simple question either.” He said. “It was horrible at times and quite pleasant at others. I traveled through so many dimensions just trying to get back I don't even remember them all. Still I missed so much _here_ , I mean Mom and Pop, I never got to say goodbye. I missed so much of your life.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.  “I'm sorry Shermy.”

His sister laid a hand on his arm, her touch was feathery and uncertain.

“I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have yelled at you before. The portal and everything? That wasn't your fault. This whole thing stinks. I’m not mad at you, Ford.   Shit, I’m not even sure who I'm mad at, besides Pop, that is, but I promise I'm not mad at you.” She smiled wanly.

“If you're gonna kiss me again I’ll need a little forewarning”, he joked.

Shermy shook her head with a grin, but she opened her arms for a hug.

“Yeah, well. Come here, ya big six-fingered nerd.”

Despite some initial hesitation, He wrapped her in his arms. She was bony and still tiny compared to him, though their height difference was now a matter of inches rather than feet.

“You smell like Ford.” She said smiling wide and fragile. Her voice was like eggshells; it could crack at any time.

He frowned against her shoulder, confused. “Come again?”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and hugged him close, sniffing his sweater. “Like gunpowder and iodine and old books.” She took his hand, pulling away, and laced her five fingers with his six. Ford gave her fingers a squeeze.

“Stan lent me the notebook of dates you gave him.” He said when she'd let go and turned back to the jug.

Shermy grunted. “Oy, I don't know why I bothered giving him that! He only remembers the twins and he's always working! Tell the old fart to come and see us more often, we don't bite.”

Her brother let a wry snicker escape his lips. “Are you sure about that Shermy?”

She shrugged, trying hard not to smile again. “Well alright, we have been known to punch each other occasionally, but there’s no biting. That’s against the rules.”

“Sounds like some kind of Pines family fight club” he said with a wry smile.

His sister chuckled. “That's what this is ain't it? Didn't we tell ya?” She stretched and covered a sneaky yawn, visibly tired.

Ford laughed. This felt easier, like some old muscle memory that was slowly coming back to him.

“Do you still like to stargaze at all? I remember that winter at Glass Shard on the beach like it was yesterday.”

She nodded, pouring water into mugs. “Yeah actually, I've kept it up all my life. Just as a hobby. Why d’ya ask?”

Ford chuckled to himself and gestured around the living room at his family members, “Isaac Newton, The Big Dipper, Polaris, Didn't I hear someone's got the middle name Andromeda?”

“Yeah…” Shermy giggled, and for a minute in his eyes she was five years old once more. “Are you sensing a theme?”

“Just a little bit, yeah”

She tucked some hair behind her ears and he noticed her earrings were little golden planets.

“Well, you haven't met the cats, Castor and Pollux yet.” She said.

“Oh my god, Shermy.” Ford laughed shaking his head “It’s like a sitcom.” 

Shermy snorted. “-Says the man who spent three decades as a literal sci-fi trope in another dimension.”

Ford smirked. “Touché.”

She set a brewing pot of coffee on the side, and tended to the two mugs of tea waiting to steep.

“Do you take sugar or honey with your tea, Stanford?” she asked.

“Honey, if you don't mind.”

Shermy glanced at him briefly and shook her head smiling softly. “Of course I don’t _mind_ , ya knucklehead.”

* * *

_(Shermy)_

When Shermaine Pines first met her brother Stanley it was as a wise and hard-hearted eleven-year-old girl in her best funeral dress, who hated crying and loved her family hard enough to hold them together

When Shermaine Pines last saw her brother, Stanford. The _real_ Stanford, it was as a truth-seeking five-year-old who’d sat with him on that early morning in Glass Shard Beach, watching the sunrise and asking too many questions.

Shermy Chapman-Pines was forty-five years, eight months and four days old. She had a PhD, a telescope, a shelf of awards and an eternity ring. She had crow’s feet and greying hair and twin thirteen-year-old grandkids. In her hand was a hot cup of tea and she sat on her own sofa in her living room, her head rested on Stanford’s shoulder, her legs in Stanley’s lap. On the back porch her husband, son and grandchildren were looking at the stars.

To say all was well would be a lie, there was over thirty years of grief and anger for them to acknowledge. Thirty years of lies, broken promises and fractured families, but here she had all the broken pieces in her grasp. She had time, she had patience and she had room to forgive. The Pines Family could get past this.

After all, things change.


End file.
